


The Very People Who No One Imagines

by spudqueen



Category: The Imitation Game (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Captivity, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Medicine, Oral Sex, Possible Dub-Con, Post-World War II, Science, Spies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spudqueen/pseuds/spudqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan Turing had left his war time work, and the friends he had made, behind him for a new life in Manchester.</p><p>Or had he....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference photos at end...enjoy!
> 
> *and yes, this fic is based on real places, mostly in Manchester, which you could visit if you were so inclined.

 

It had been an unusually tempestuous Spring for Manchester. Fast moving rain storms, driven in angry squadrons across the Irish Sea had been slamming into the northern coast of England, causing the river to swell dangerously and rivulets of cold water to funnel down the already cracked tarmac. Blustery bouts of wind had been knocking about the tender, newly leaved trees and winter weary people, with collars up and hats pulled low, who dared step out of doors.

Shafts of sunlight were finally beginning to break through the evening clouds, sharp and sudden stabs of it, like someone shining a torch through the cracks of a fence, creating spotlights of illuminated sidewalk along Princess Street. Like itinerant actors moving in and out of the scene, men and women hurried downhill, past closing shops and opening theaters. It was the end of the work day; the warm security of home beckoned.

As was often the case, Professor Alan Turing found himself moving against the crowds, working his way slowly uphill toward the city center, miles from the brick walled lanes of his home neighborhood. Bundled tightly in a grey herringbone tweed overcoat, he was aiming for his favorite public house several blocks from the sprawling university campus.

Recently he had developed a habit of not going home, at least not until the headaches, and the exhaustion that was their constant companion, made it absolutely necessary. The small brick two story Alan rented on Adlington Road was modest but comfortable, with a glassed in sun porch and small garden speckled with springtime flowers: bluebells, hyacinth, and peonies. It was a house meant for someone with more time to invest in its appreciation, a family with children to run its cramped halls and perhaps a small dog digging up the flowerbeds. Alan had none of these and found coming home, to empty rooms and cold fireplaces, a rather depressing prospect.

The pub was small, too far from University to be crowded with students, and quiet enough to allow him his spacious corner table and privacy. Its narrow interior was cozy: dark, polished wood tables, stained glass and ebony leather banquettes along the walls. The ceiling had been painted a deep forrest green, and the walls were lined with oddly titled books and turn of the century prints of the Manchester Ship Canal. Dinner was casual, well accepted comfort food: roast beef and yorkshire pudding, shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash. It was simple food and Alan preferred it that way.

While contemplating the busy crossing at Cooper Street, Alan was surprised to see a familiar face coming out of the very pub he was heading toward, a face he had not seen since the end of the war, at Bletchley Park, and had never expected to see again. Unsure of his reasons, he stepped out of sight into the shelter of the imposing Bank of England building which dominated the corner.

Pressing up against the pale, smooth greyness of the portland stone foundation, Alan watched as Hugh Alexander stopped to adjust his collar and light a cigarette, cupping his hand against the evening breeze. He turned and began swiftly sauntering down the sidewalk, managing to look casual and carefree despite the hurrying crowds pushing past him. It was hard to see his face clearly from his current vantage point, but Alan would know that cocky walk from any distance.

They had been friends, of a sort, by the end of the war. Alan remembered the raging bonfire that last night, where they had burned everything they had worked on for years, his beloved machine Christopher’s pyre. The smell of the papers burning, the loud crack as some piece of framework collapsed in a shower of sparks....the heavy weight of Hugh’s arm across his shoulder.

They had started, years before that night, as adversaries. Respect had grown slowly. Alan knew the rest of the cryptography team found him difficult to work with, indeed they didn’t even try at first. This suited him fine. Cairncross was affable enough, though it had turned out his genial facade was hiding a traitorous secret, and Peter Hilton was an excellent codebreaker and translator. In the end they had both done their part.

Working with Hugh was a constant battle on more than one front; they struggled against each other for control of the project but his brilliant ideas and sparkling blue eyes were a constant distraction to Alan. And then there was Joan, his sounding board and best friend. He could not have done it without her...a shame he didn’t find her attractive. But that was an old argument. He was homosexual and had accepted it long ago.

Hugh passed within ten feet of where Alan stood in the shadows, his eyes down, a thin smoke trailing after him. He looked well enough but Alan let him pass and then continued on to the City Arms Pub. It was best not to drag up old wounds.

\------------------------------------

Ironically, old wounds had a tendency to reopen, for good or for ill, just when you thought they had healed. Several nights later, Alan sat at his customary table at the City Arms. The proprietor, Mr. Macomb, had produced a delicious roast chicken, with winter vegetables, and brought Alan a glass of port as he cleared the dishes.

“Working on the thinking machine again, I see.” Mr. Macomb inquired.

He fancied himself an amateur scientist, and though his poking could be annoying at times, lately Alan found it useful to explain his theories to an everyman. While his final paper on artificial intelligence would be published in scientific journals, it was important that the foundation be accessible. He had been told it was an area he must work on.

Alan glanced up from the scattered notes. “Yes...yes...I am w-working on a new theory of artificial intelligence. A test of sorts, you might say.”

“Test?” Macomb rubbed his bushy eyebrows in thought. He never seemed to notice when Alan stuttered.

“For determining whether s-something is a machine, or a human being.”

“I see...How does it work then?” Macomb said, pulling out a chair to sit down at the table, much to Alan’s consternation. Before he could lower his rather large frame into the small wooden chair a man appeared behind him.

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt.” It was Hugh Alexander. As Macomb moved to the side, nodding his head and proffering the seat to the newcomer, Hugh flashed a wide smile at his old colleague.

Alan stood up, the table rocking precariously, papers sliding to the floor. “Hugh! It’s g-good to see you.”

“Is it now?” He turned to Macomb. “Can you bring me a pint of ale? Thanks.”

Both men stood staring in silence at each other. Hugh huffed a nervous laugh. “May I join you?”

“Oh, yes. Certainly.” Alan bent down to pull together the notes which had scattered onto the dusty wooden floor.

Hugh picked up a sheet of note paper, eyes sliding rapidly down a column of numbers and formulas. He frowned in concentration, chewing on his bottom lip. Watching him read, Alan remembered this same look, as Hugh studied the board of coded messages at Bletchley. It was a distracting habit. He looked thinner than Alan remembered him, but he had the same dark, wavy hair and still dressed impeccably.

“Working on a new machine? You do know we won the war, yes?” Hugh caught him staring and grinned.

Alan flushed, taking the paper from Hugh and arranging his notes to cover his embarrassment. “It’s a new machine, obviously. Nothing could ever replace Christopher, but this is his heir, s-sort of. It’s a thinking machine, capable of learning from its mistakes.”

“Reprogrammable? Interesting.” Hugh nodded in appreciation at Macomb as his pint arrived and, lifting it in salute toward Alan, he took a deep drink.

“Joan would have liked that.”

“Yes, I suppose she w-would have.”

Uncomfortable, Alan took a long pull on his port. In the two years since the work at Bletchley had concluded he had tried to immerse himself in his new position at the University and his work on artificial intelligence. It was painful to think how he had broken that connection he had with Joan, even if the reasoning was admirable.

“Ah, I see. So I take that to mean that you have not been in touch with her?” Hugh leaned forward, eyes intense. “I understand she is engaged to a new chap. A soldier I believe.”

Alan continued organizing his notes.

Hugh stared for a minute, then downed the rest of the pint. He tapped his fingers restlessly on the table top, craning his neck around to find the barkeep and refresh his drink.

Today’s work put in order, Alan began to pack the papers into his leather satchel. A warm hand fell on his forearm. “Alan...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up...well. You don’t have to leave. Tell me about your new work.”

Alan stopped packing, glancing down at the hand on his arm, then back up at Hugh’s grey blue eyes. “Well, as you may have surmised, I am working on a method to define the word ‘intelligence’.”

“Mmmm..” Hugh’s hand went back to his fresh pint and he leaned back in his chair, observing Alan from under long lashes.

“Yes. Though I don’t seek to define the word, as it is traditionally attempted, but rather I propose to change the question from ‘Can machines think?’ to ‘Can machines do what we, as thinking entities, can do?’ That, as stated, w-would be possible to measure.”

“And how are you proposing to measure that?” Hugh put down his drink.

Pulling out a clean sheet of paper and searching his pockets for a pencil, Alan warmed to his subject. “I am developing a test, and a machine, to do just that.”

Sketching a simple flow chart to illustrate, Alan explained the basis of his idea, thrilled by overcoming each objection Hugh threw out. They talked long into the night. Hugh told Alan of his work at GCHQ and his recent victories at the National Chess Championships. Surprisingly, Hugh did not mention his personal conquests, he had been fond of entertaining the other men with such stories at Bletchley, and Alan found he was grateful.  
\-------------------------------------------

Hours later the two men finally rose to leave as the pub closed. Alan had to admit it had been a long while since he had enjoyed a conversation so much.

With each pint Hugh downed his ideas had grown more creative. He even proposed an idea for a computing machine that could play chess as well as he could. It was all intriguing and exhilarating, and Alan found his eyes straying to Hugh as he donned his long coat and scarf.

His cheeks were flushed from the drinks, and his mouth curled in a peculiar smirk. He had not shaved recently, though the shadow of stubble along his jaw was quite attractive. He was talking to himself in a low voice, concentrating on buttoning, which seemed to be giving him some trouble.

Perhaps that last pint had not been the best of ideas.

Stepping out into the street it became immediately apparent that the break in the weather had not persisted. A sheen of drizzle had coated every surface, rapidly icing as the temperature dropped. Alan did not look forward to the trip home.

He turned to say goodbye just as Hugh stumbled, falling down the worn stone steps of the City Arms and into the cobbled street with a loud thwack. Alan dropped his satchel and rushed to help his friend.

Hugh was laughing, in self deprecation it seemed, but howled in pain when he tried to put weight on his left leg. Alan slung Hugh’s arm over his shoulder and helped him stand. They swayed a bit.

Perhaps that second draught of port had been a bad idea too.

“Steady now. Christ, that hurts!” Hugh swore, his words a warm fog too close to Alan’s ear. It sent a shiver down Alan’s neck. “I think it’s my ankle.”

“Perhaps we should get you a cab then...”

Alan looked around as the drizzle became more insistent. He attempted to lift his satchel back onto his other shoulder without dropping Hugh. For a slender man, Hugh was quite heavy and unwieldy in his current condition.

“Nonsense. We’ll never get a cab. I live just two blocks up and to the right, on Duke Street. Help a friend out, Alan.” He swung his free arm out in that general direction dramatically.

They began a slow hobble down the empty streets, eventually coming upon a small building of red brick with white shutters. Opening the door proved troublesome, Alan having to search through the coat pockets of a confused Hugh to find the keys. “It’s temporary lodging until I return to London in the Spring.”

At a small landing on the second floor they came to his door and Alan helped him inside. Flipping the light switch just inside the doorway revealed a small flat, partially furnished and sparse. A suitcase lay on a chair by the window. Several ash trays lay overflowing on the coffee table. Small bottles and stacks of books lined the counter in the kitchen. The cupboards appeared full though.

Leaving Hugh on a chair in the lounge, Alan went into the small kitchen to put the kettle on. An intensive search finally yielded tea, milk and sugar.

Walking back into the lounge, Alan leaned down. “How do you take your tea?”

He was sound asleep. Alan shook his shoulder. “It appears that tea will have to wait. Hugh...let’s get you into your bed.”

Hugh mumbled, and with Alan’s help, lurched up out of the chair. Hugh flashed him a sleepy smile from entirely too close. “Sorry ‘bout this old chap.”

He sat Hugh on the edge of his bed, the springs squeaking loudly. Bending down, he removed the other man’s shoes gingerly. He felt a clumsy hand stroke through his hair from above.

Shocked, Alan looked up, frozen on his knees, uncertain of what seemed like an intimate gesture. Hugh’s eyes were hooded, his lips parted. He licked them nervously. Alan couldn’t help but follow with his eyes as he did.

Hugh leaned in slowly, his hand moving to cup the back of Alan’s neck. He pressed his warm lips against Alan’s, a soft noise of want forming in the back of his throat.

He pulled back and looked at Alan. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

Alan couldn’t think of what to say. His mind spun. _How could Hugh have wanted this? How could he have not realized?_

Sensing Alan’s confusion Hugh pulled him in closer, pressing his chest against the other man’s and kissing him again, this time deeper and with obvious intent. Hugh’s hands were roaming all over, his tongue probing inside, his breath coming in huffs.

Alan melted into his embrace. He stroked the stubble on Hugh’s cheeks with his thumb, reveling in the rough feel of them. He broke away briefly, kissing his way down Hugh’s neck, licking and sucking as he went. The smell of beer and cigarettes and rain coloring everything.

Hugh tried to pull him down into the bed ,hands grasping at his clothes. Alan stopped.

 _What was he doing?_. Taking advantage of what surely was a drunken advance that Hugh would be horrified by later.

Alan stumbled to his feet, moving back from the bed and toward the door.

“Alan, wait! Hold on....what did I do?”

He turned at the door, clutching his coat. “This was a mistake, Hugh. I have to go now.”

Ignoring the other man’s calls, he ran out of the room, through the front door and down the hall into the rain soaked streets, still feeling the heated imprint of Hugh’s lips.

 

 

 

                                 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan promised himself he would never see Hugh again...but giving up on a chance at love was not that easy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider yourself forewarned...there will be some good old fashioned slashy action in this chapter.
> 
> I wouldn't turn back if I were you.
> 
>  
> 
> Motivational picture at the end.

Overnight, the rain in Manchester had gone from a cloying drizzle which seemed doubtful of its own intentions to a full on downpour, relentless and angry. Gusts of wind blew wet newspaper down the cobbled path which led to the small brick building on Coupland Street, and threatened to follow Alan through the glass doors and into the vestibule.

Kicking the paper away, Alan removed the sodden trench coat which had done little to protect him, shaking off any excess water before entering the hall to his offices. He supposed it would be necessary to purchase a proper MacIntosh slicker now that he had determined to stay on in a permanent position at the University.

He had meant to finish the design phase of his newest computing machine by the end of the week but found himself reconsidering his blueprints and calculations as he recalled ideas from last nights discussions with Hugh. It was refreshing to have someone who challenged him, someone close to his own level. Alan’s colleagues at the University were a well trained bunch but few had the creative bent that true innovation required. Hugh was different...brilliant but willing to stretch his understanding to work on new ideas. Alan truly enjoyed his company.

He considered asking Hugh to join him in his work on a more formal basis, the University would surely be willing to authorize a new addition to his team, but then there was another problem...

Frustrating. Arousing. Frightening. All words that came to mind. Last night he had given in to his attraction for Hugh and the emotions it brought up influenced everything. As he had run home, headless of the spectacle he must have presented, slipping around the rain soaked corners and down the lane to his darkened house, guilt was the main feeling that drove him. He replayed each moment from that first kiss: the hand in his hair, the awkward brush of those warm lips on his, the drunken groping that left aching sweet marks along his neck.

He should not have allowed it. Alan knew, all too well after enduring years of Hugh’s amorous exploits with women, that last night was an aberration. Loneliness, and a fair amount of alcohol, could do that to a man. Cause him to seek solace in the most unlikely places. And Alan was nothing if not unlikely.

He began setting up a new area in his workshop, which adjoined the small office he maintained for academic purposes, assembling an earlier model frame to build the redesign he had decided to attempt. Slowly piles of brass cogs, servos, dull grey metal plating and electrical wiring were organized, completely devouring a set of steel shelves in the southern corner. He would need to cannibalize his earlier automatic machine.

A small cadre of students, who followed his experiments with an almost religious fervor, would be in the workshop by mid afternoon. Alan had hoped to have all in readiness by then but his mind kept wandering treacherously back to Hugh’s hands stroking his chest, or the feel of Hugh’s pulse racing under Alan’s lips as he kissed the other man’s arched throat, offered to him like a sacrifice. It had been...intoxicating.

Alan struggled through the days work. The students arrived and, while some progress was made, Alan found himself looking forward to dinner at his pub, where he could be alone with his thoughts and, if he were honest with himself, breathe in the lingering atmosphere of Hugh’s presence.

\----------------------------------

Later that evening, as the last reddening clouds, backlit by the sun, melted into the inky blackness of true night, Alan made his way uptown toward the city center. The showers that had claimed most of the daylight seemed to be paused at present, leaving a thick fog which clung to exposed faces and hands like a sticky film. People passing through seemed somehow affected, as if the dense murkiness was dampening conversations. Though he had no intentions outside of dinner, and perhaps a welcome glass of port, Alan’s mind hummed with an uneasy anticipation.

Even Mr. Macomb, assisted that evening by his slender, diminutive wife Eileen, was in a quiet, subdued mood. Alan’s dinner of braised beef in a rich red wine sauce was delicious, as he had come to expect in this little jewel of a restaurant, but he found his focus was somewhere else. Shoving his scattered notes back into his satchel, Alan excused himself politely, forgoing the pudding. He stepped back out onto the street and, instead of turning north toward home, he found his feet carrying him toward Duke Street and the scene of last night’s encounter.

When he reached the modest faded brick facade of Hugh’s house he paused, looking up at the second floor window, wondering what he was doing here. He was almost certain that Hugh would be outraged, even violent. He might be disgusted that Alan had touched him, kissed him, even though it was Hugh....

_He said he had wanted this for a long time._

Sheer white curtains prevented any view of the man inside but Alan could see the soft yellow glow of a lamp on a table near the window sill. He was home, it seemed. Now all that was required was to find the courage to knock on his door.

Alan climbed quietly up the steps, the creak of the wood unnaturally loud in the fog, unconsciously smoothing his hair and jacket as he went. At the top he did not hesitate, but knocked with a determined rap, which echoed around the stairwell dramatically. There was a pause, then a slow shuffling noise from within.

Hugh appeared, leaning on a simple wooden cane. Upon seeing Alan at his door his handsome face went from shock to amusement in short order. He chuckled softly, moving awkwardly to the side and gesturing for Alan to enter.

Alan didn’t move. Seeing Hugh, standing so close, his hair damp and tousled, his terry cloth robe half undone in obvious haste, Alan scrapped the apology he had planned. “Hugh, it’s g-good to see you up and about.”

“Alan, come in for Christ sakes. It’s freezing out there.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Alan slipped past him, careful not to touch, and stood awkwardly in the entryway, his rain soaked shoes making a small puddle on the painted wood floors.

Suddenly realizing how he was dressed, Hugh pulled his robe closed, synching the belt tighter. “I was just fixing a cup of tea before bed.”

“I c-could return tomorrow. I know it’s late.” Alan stammered, unsure of his welcome.

Hugh began to hobble toward the kitchen. “Don’t be foolish, come in. I’ll fix you a cup also, shall I?”

Alan followed, pausing at the kitchen door. “Yes, that would be most appreciated.”

He watched Hugh pour the hot water from a small earthenware kettle over the tea bags, into some rather dainty teacups. The young man sat carefully on a kitchen chair and smiled up at him. He could see now that Hugh’s face was drawn and his normally sparkling eyes were lined in dark shadows. Obviously, Hugh had not slept well last night.

Guilty thoughts made a reappearance. Ruthlessly he pushed them down. It would not do to run back out. Alan removed his overcoat and sat quietly across the small round table from his friend.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

Finally, having decided to set aside his personal fears, Alan broke the silence. “I have begun to implement several of the improvements w-we talked about for my automatic machine. It will probably require another week of assembly before testing can begin. Are you...would you be interested in assisting me at the University?”

Stirring another lump of sugar into his tea, Hugh put down the spoon and took a sip. He seemed to come to a decision and looked up at Alan, eyes dark and brooding. “Is that what you came back here to say? Are we going to pretend nothing happened?”

Alan could think of no response to that question. He blinked, unable to look away from the accusations in the other mans eyes. Several courses of action occurred to him but none seemed possible. _This was a mistake. I should never have come._ He stood to leave, reaching for his coat.

“Put that down and come over here.” Hugh’s voice was soft and low, but commanding. It’s effect on Alan was profound. “You needn’t worry as I am not drunk tonight.”

They stared for a moment and the coat dropped from Alan’s hand and slid to the floor. Then Alan was moving...fast.

He fell to his knees, landing hard on the linoleum tiles, in front of Hugh. Pulling Hugh forward in the chair, Alan’s hands stroked up the inside of the other man’s thighs, thumbs gliding over the crease where his legs met his groin. He leaned in slowly, eyes flickering over Hugh’s face, taking in the flush high on his cheeks.

“Are you certain?” Alan asked, hands squeezing.

Hugh’s eyes closed and he took a shuddering breath. “Please...Alan...Just...”

Alan reached up with one long fingered hand, slipping around to cup Hugh’s head and draw him into a deep kiss, tongue plunging inside. Hugh groaned as Alan palmed him, hand rubbing and tracing the outline of his hardening cock. Still kissing passionately, Hugh began to unbutton Alan’s shirt, desperate to get his hands on the warm flesh beneath. Alan broke away, stopping him.

“No. Let me do this...” Alan’s tone was firm but his hands shook as he pulled open the soft terry cloth robe Hugh was wearing, trailing sloppy kisses down across the sparse chest hair. His tongue flicked over the dark circle of a nipple, then he teased it with his teeth into a hard, excited point.

Hugh groaned as Alan hooked his thumbs under the elastic band of his thin cotton boxer shorts, pulling them down, freeing his cock from its confines. It was beautiful. Alan took it in his warm hand, stroking slowly while looking up at Hugh. He kissed it reverently.

"Oh Christ...oh fuck..." Hugh's voice trailed off in a creative string of curses as Alan suckled the swollen head of his prick.  Alan swallowed Hugh's length all the way down, feeling it bump the back of his throat.  Face buried in the nest of soft pubic hair at the base he gulped air through his nose and began to suck forcefully, in and out, cheeks hollowed, angling for maximum effect.  The scent of Hugh's sex, the sound of his breathing, quick inhales, escalating sharply, and the heavy weight of his cock as it pushed in, sliding along the flat of his tongue became Alan's sole focus...the center of his world.

Hugh's hips bucked up and Alan slid his hands around and under Hugh's exposed buttocks, squeezing firmly and urging him forward.   _Fuck my mouth,_ he thought desperately, wanting to feel the other man using him for his pleasure.  Wanting it rough.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Hugh thrust into him deeply, letting loose an almost inhuman grunt as he came hard, filling his mouth.  Alan coughed, eyes watering, but swallowed it down.  

Standing up, swaying slightly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  Alan's own cock was hard and aching, pulse pounding in his head.  His mind was reeling.  It had been a long time since he had felt the urge to give himself up to another man like that.  And this...this was so much more than he had ever wanted.  His own desire, to be taken, to give himself up, scared him.

Hugh looked wrecked, his legs spread wide, his softening member hanging over the top of his boxers, his eyes heavy lidded as he gazed at Alan.  

Alan looked around for his coat, panic beginning to well up inside.  "I ....I should go..."

Hugh lurched to his feet, pulling his boxers up as he stood.  He grabbed Alan's arm, drawing him back.  His face was close, their foreheads almost touching, eyes dark and intense.

"Don't go." Hugh's thumb began rubbing circles where it gripped his arm.  "Don't run this time."

Staring at the floor, Alan shook his head, his hair falling down over his face. Hugh pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of Alan's neck.  

"Listen to me you...infuriating man." Hugh's voice was husky, his breath tickling the small hairs along Alan's neck. " I want you to stay... I want to touch you too....make you feel even half of what I feel."

Alan felt strong hands stroking along his back, soothing. Hugh was placing soft kisses along his neck, behind his ears, drawing his earlobe gently into his mouth. Alan was shivering, emotions roiling, wavering between breaking free to run away and giving in and demanding what he truly desired. What life had always denied him. What he deserved.

Suddenly Hugh’s hand slipped between their bodies, stroking and squeezing with just the right grip and Alan felt any objections melt under a flood of arousal. His hips jerked up into Hugh’s caress. He sucked in a sharp breath at the onslaught of sensations. His eyes rolled up.

“Ummmm...I think you want to stay.” Hugh’s spoke seductively.

Hugh took his hand, taking the coat away from Alan and throwing it carelessly to the side, and led him slowly to the darkness of his bedroom.

 

                                                                                                         


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
> in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”  
> ― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slash just gets slashier from here on out....

The first sunlight in two weeks filtered through the filmy curtains of the second floor flat on Duke Street, bathing the rumpled blue and yellow quilt, and the two men sheltered under it, in a soft morning glow. Aside from the muted tick of a brass alarm clock, sitting unset on the bedside table, the only sound in the room was hushed breathing, slow and rhythmic. The streets outside were still empty, only the distant rumbling vibrations from a milk lorry reverberating off the window glass announced the day had begun. 

Alan opened his eyes slowly. It took a minute to register...he was not in his own bed. Hugh’s long, sleep heavy arms were wrapped around him, his face tucked snugly over Alan’s left shoulder. He shifted, mumbling something indistinct, and pressed his lean body into Alan’s backside, claiming every inch of contact possible, bare skin pressing into bare skin. It felt...marvelous.

Without even lifting his head, over the pillowcase, Alan could just glimpse his trousers where they lay, strewn on the floor. His shirt was nearby in a pile of white cotton. The blue silk tie he had worn to work was on the bed of course, tangled somewhere amidst the sheets, as Hugh had used it last night...Alan closed his eyes, remembering.

The bedroom had been dark, but the light spilling in from the hallway created a circle of illumination, like the room was a stage. Hugh had shrugged off his robe, kicking it aside, and stood in his boxer shorts, stroking his hand down Alan’s chest...waist...groin...and back up. A current of electric pleasure followed in its wake, blood surging into Alan’s cock every time that hand brushed by. 

Slowly Hugh undressed Alan, peeling off his shirt, investigating every inch of revealed skin, leaving trails of moist kisses as he went. It tickled. Alan stood quite still, watching Hugh’s nimble fingers work. Emotions, like relentless waves at high tide washed over him: arousal, tenderness, lust and yes, just the leading edge of terror. Alan had always been the giver. Receiving was an unknown quantity.

Shirt removed, Hugh paused, his fingers on the button at the top of Alan’s trousers. Looking up at Alan, Hugh undid his fly in a slow and deliberate manner, all the while holding his gaze. Unable to look away from those intense eyes, all of Alan’s other senses seemed heightened, unnaturally attuned to the motion of the hands below.

“Do you trust me, Alan?” The zipper separated, releasing pressure.

“Mmm...yes, of course.” He trembled as Hugh slid his trousers off. They fell to the floor heavily.

“Will you allow me to show you?” Hugh was crouched down, lifting each foot out.

It was distracting...Hugh was speaking so close he could feel each heated breath flutter, teasing, across the hyper sensitive surface of his thin cotton underpants. Just centimeters. Then he pulled the underpants down too.

“I..show me what?” Alan managed to croak out.

Hugh stood up, licking his lips unconsciously. “Show you how good I can make you feel. Allow me to focus on you...only you.”

As Alan was considering the implications of that, Hugh leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “Can you keep your hands to yourself, or shall I tie them for you?”

He raised Alan’s silk tie in the air, swinging it between them. A self conscious grin flashed across Hugh’s face. He cocked his head in a query. Alan’s heart began to beat faster. No one had ever suggested such a thing to him. _How much did he trust this man?_

In his past, most men seemed to expect to be serviced, for Alan to suck and stroke them, with little concern for his own pleasure. No past lover had ever taken the time. Alan usually found himself abandoned, the smell of sex still lingering in the air, and would take himself in hand, learning to relish the feeling of doing something forbidden...perverted. It seemed to fit, this lack of affection from lovers who were really no more than strangers.

But Hugh was different. They knew each other..at least as well as anyone knew Alan Turing. Alan had to admit to himself that trusting Hugh was nerve wracking.

But he was also intrigued. 

He smiled shyly at Hugh, offering his wrists up to be tied. “Alright.”

 _Well, I’ve crossed the Rubicon now._

His pulse increased, the thrill of the unknown racing through his blood...singing.

Hugh guided him down on the bed, securing his wrists firmly to the wooden slats of the headboard. Standing up again, Hugh slid his own boxers down and stroked his long thin cock leisurely, engrossed in the sight of Alan naked on his bed. Evidently he liked what he was seeing. 

The bed dipped as Hugh crawled back on, positioning himself on all fours, leaning over Alan. They kissed, slow and sensuous. Hugh’s lips were warm and full, his tongue exploring Alan’s mouth, licking inside, seeking Alan’s tongue. Closing his eyes, Alan focused on the sensations: the press and release of each kiss, the hands caressing the sides of his face and his hair, the frisson of arousal which shot through him every time Hugh’s cock bumped teasingly against his own.

Alan’s hands fidgeted, pulling against his restraints. Hugh sat up, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, leaning his weight back on Alan’s thighs. 

“My God, you look beautiful like this.” Hugh’s voice was thick with want.

Licking and sucking his way down Alan’s heaving chest and quivering stomach, he paused to suck little red marks in certain places which seemed more sensitive, learning quickly that Alan liked to be bitten lightly. Alan felt his nerve endings tingling at each scrape of the other man’s teeth. Soon his whole torso was alive, buzzing with the attention Hugh was showing him.

Alan found the anticipation of Hugh’s mouth on his cock to be the hardest part of being restrained. Having given in to his lust he had the almost undeniable urge to grab Hugh’s head and push it down where he wanted it..but he couldn’t. And Hugh was not helping matters.

Carefully avoiding Alan’s straining prick, Hugh kissed and bit and sucked around his groin, brushing his balls with the tip of his nose as he bent in to suck a mark on Alan’s inner thigh.

“Oh, God Hugh...I...please....what...” The squeaky pitch of his voice was embarrassing.

“Hush. I have plenty more I want to explore.” Leaving a wet stripe across the back of Alan’s knee with his tongue, he blew softly. Alan shivered. 

He massaged Alan’s foot and slid his mouth over the big toe, sucking and licking. Each toe received the same delicate attention, the suction light, the tip of his tongue flicking along the underside. It was an exquisite sensation. Alan groaned. Amused, Hugh chuckled.

Finally, when Alan was becoming a bit dizzy with feeling, Hugh moved back up, taking Alan in his hand and pressing his lips to the spongy head of Alan’s cock. He swirled his tongue around the crown and then started to suck Alan, hard and intense. Alan’s hips bowed up off the bed involuntarily.  
Every nerve sang and all perception narrowed to the devastating slide of those wet warm lips over his velvety skin of his penis, popping off the top and then pushing down again.

Alan felt fingers fondling his balls and sliding down behind them to the tight pucker of his anus. Suddenly, the focus shifted.

“W-what are you doing?” He stammered. “Y-you don’t have to do that..”

Hugh stopped sucking and reached up to kiss him. “I know, but I want to.”

Alan gulped. Hugh was looking at him tenderly, slowly circling the tight little knot of muscle, rubbing it. He felt the muscle expand and contract. It was so intimate. Alan nodded. Hugh smiled and leaned in for a long kiss.

Looking into Alan’s eyes, he slipped his index finger into his mouth and then slid it back down, rubbing its spit slicked tip down the crease of Alan’s buttocks and slowly slipping it inside. Alan’s eyes rolled back. A noise, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh escaped his lips. 

Taking Alan’s prick back into his mouth, Hugh sucked greedily, pumping his finger in and out with agonizing slowness. The feeling of being penetrated by another man was almost too much and soon after Alan felt his balls tighten, all the heat and tensions gathering. His arms pulled and the bed creaked loudly.

He came hard, hips snapping up, mouth bowed in an almost silent ‘oh’. Hugh pulled off and thick pearly ejaculate shot into the air, splattering across Alan’s stomach as it heaved.

Hugh’s hand shot to his own cock, and he pumped himself fast, jerking spasmodically and crying out as he came for a second time that night. He collapsed on top of Alan, breath heaving. 

Afterwards, Hugh had cleaned them both with a warm, wet cloth and then snuggled around his naked form, kissing the back of his neck. A smile played across his mouth as sleep claimed him. They didn’t speak. It was not needed. 

\----------------------------------

The sun was high and warm overhead, the first real hint that Spring had decided to stay. Three young women, dressed in the drab green uniforms and round caps of the Women’s Voluntary Service rushed past Alan, laughing gaily, as he stepped off the front steps onto Duke Street. People of all stripes streamed by, the long awaited sunlight bringing on a shared giddiness that only those held hostage to the English weather could truly understand. 

It was a rebirth which, for once in his life, Alan felt keenly. The glow of waking up in his lovers arms, of being kissed awake no less, held him tightly as he made his way down toward the University, his raincoat slung jauntily over his shoulder, no longer needed. 

“Good Morning handsome.” Hugh had said and settled in for a long, lazy snog, as if it were the most natural thing. 

He smiled to himself, almost bumping into a student pedaling by. Looking around as he passed under the huge stone archway leading onto the main campus quad, Alan wondered if others could read the change in him. He felt different. As if God himself had suddenly decided he approved of Alan, giving him love in his life. _Love. Was that what this was?_ He shook his head, surprised at how one night of passion could change his normally practical disposition.

It was time to work. What he wanted to accomplish required concentration and focus. Yet...he couldn’t help wishing Hugh had agreed to come and work with him. He had been a bit mysterious about the appointment he had that afternoon, but Alan hoped he might stop by afterwards. 

He longed to show Hugh his laboratory, and the work he had been doing there. To collaborate with him on the new design ideas he had sketched out yesterday would be exhilarating. They were well matched intellectually. Alan wondered if their newly consummated physical relationship would prevent them from working together or strengthen their connection. 

The day went by in a blur of meetings with his research team and consultations with students. Only one hour was spent in the laboratory, and that wasted as well correcting a mistake from yesterday. 

Teatime came and went without any sign of Hugh.

As dinner neared, Alan took a cab home, wanting to bathe and change clothes before he headed to the pub, where Hugh would surely be waiting for him. 

In the privacy of his bathroom, Alan studied the marks on his chest and neck. They were like hidden presents, each one discovered a reminder of how much he was wanted...desired. 

He shaved the days beard, carefully sliding the straight razor with the stubble and then a second time against the hairs, until his face was smooth and soft. Clean and dressed, Alan left home, strolling down his street swiftly, eager to reach the pub. 

\-----------------------------

The pint of bitters sat on the glossy black table at the City Arms, looking forlorn and abandoned, while Alan tried to determine the most likely reason that Hugh would not have come. Mr. Macomb had brought a serving of the beautiful Shepherd’s Pie on offer tonight but Alan had barely touched it. His stomach turned in knots. 

Scolding himself for doubting Hugh, he paid his bill and left the pub, bent on seeing what had happened. There would be a reasonable explanation..of that he was sure. 

At the turn onto Duke Street Alan began to feel the nervous energy of anticipation. Only one light was on inside. He sprinted up the wooden steps to the second floor.

The door opened slowly, revealing a slender, young woman, her dark wavy hair pulled back severely with a pin. Her dress was rather formal and stiff, an effect which was ruined by the creases in the taffeta fabric. Matching crease marks lined one side of her face. It was obvious she has been sleeping somewhere cramped. Perhaps the sofa.

She crossed her arms, staring at Alan. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I am a friend of Hugh’s, Alan Turing. M-may I speak with him?”  
She gestured back into the dimly lit flat, but did not move aside to invite Alan in. He sensed a certain hostility in her tone...though that might have just been his imagination. After all, they were not even acquainted.

“ A friend.” Her eyes narrowed. “I can only imagine....As you can see, Hugh is not here. They have decided to keep him overnight, for observation.” 

“I’m sorry. Observation?” Now Alan’s imagination was running wild. Anxiety was rapidly turning to dread. _What had happened?_

She frowned at him. “He’s in hospital. St. Mary’s over on Oxford road. They started the treatments today and there were some complications.”

Alan’s heart dropped like a stone. It must have shown on his face as the woman’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry I don’t know more. The doctors seemed reluctant to give me the particulars. Visiting hours start at half eight if you must see him.” She began to close the door.

Alan held the door with his hand. The woman looked down in alarm. “Wait! What illness is he suffering from? Who are you?”

“ Who am I? I am Lucy Stone. Hugh’s fiancé. As for his illness...if he wanted you to know, surely he would have told you.” She pushed his hand away. “Good night.”

The door slammed shut, sounding ominous in it’s finality. Alan sank, sliding down the wall, to sit on the hard floor of the landing, stunned. He stayed there for a long time, arms curled around his legs, eyes vacantly staring out into the night where the rain, briefly absent, had returned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,  
> as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully descending;
> 
> \- from 'somewhere i have never travelled, gladly' by e.e. cummings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included a few reference photos at the end.

Mud spattered and heaving, Alan came to a lurching halt at the top of the bluff, hands on his knees, and glanced up to survey the path ahead. Past this ridge, the path sloped sharply, banking to the south into the woods that dominated Philips Park along the northern boundary of Manchester proper. The distant noises of civilization were faint and indecipherable from this elevation; for a moment the world’s demands receded. Sweat streamed down into his eyes, dripping onto the already rain saturated ground. Wiping his face he launched himself down the hill, pounding down the incline at a punishing pace.

Continuing past the weathered stone outcropping that marked the turnoff toward home, Alan committed to another four miles. Running always helped clear his mind, relieving the stress of long hours at work, but this morning was different. Pushing Hugh out of his mind was proving difficult.

Almost an hour later Alan collapsed into the wicker chaise which dominated his small garden patio. The late morning sun beat down mercilessly, as if personally offended by yesterdays cold downpour. Squeezing his eyes shut, Alan rubbed his temples gently, waiting for his hammering pulse to slow.

He lay, unmoving, listening to the soothing sounds of everyday life: the breezy whir of a bicycle coasting down the lane, a boisterous flock of robins scrapping over rain drunk worms, the distant lulling drone of his neighbors radio program. The world outside was still revolving; all these people would never know, or understand, the hollow gnawing place that had opened in his heart when he realized...

_Had Hugh really cared for him? Was he just convenient? Something pleasurable to distract Hugh from whatever was taking place at the hospital? What was Hugh suffering from? Why did he not tell him?_

He should have known, from the first moment Hugh’s lips touched his, that it couldn’t be real. Pleasure was always paid back by pain, as if some cosmic scale required balance.

Disgusted with the pitiful direction his thoughts insisted on taking, Alan lurched up out of the chaise, peeling off his sweaty shirt as he headed indoors to the shower. Dwelling on last night would not do. Somehow he would have to put Hugh out of his thoughts. Surely his fiancé would care for him.

\---------------------------------------

Under the stinging spray of the shower his resolve slowly melted. Scenes from the last few days replayed themselves, unbidden, in his memory. Closing his eyes as the water sluiced down over his head, Alan’s hand lathered his chest with soap, one thumb brushing a nipple, instantly awake and sensitive.

_Hugh’s tongue darting out to tease it to attention. A gentle bite._

Alan felt his throat choking up with emotion as the feelings swept in, his blood heating and pooling in his groin. Salty tears, bottled ruthlessly inside, slipped out, tracing patterns over Alan’s cheeks only to be washed away. A sob escaped. Dropping the bar of soap he slid his hand down and fisted himself, pulling with grim determination. Leaning against the cool, slippery tile he stroked his cock, rubbing the sensitive area just under the head with his thumb.

_Hugh’s lips sliding over his aching prick. Suction. Heat._

The need for release was becoming almost unbearable. Alan gripped tighter, his hand flying. Turning, he put his back to the wall, the shower spray beating down on his chest. His mind had been overtaken by lust and an almost primitive demand for satisfaction.

_Hugh was his. It had been his hands and mouth on Hugh, and Hugh’s fingers, slick with spit and fluids, pushing up into him...._

Alan probed his opening with a trembling finger....ahhhhh....that..that was what he wanted....that feeling of being taken...desired...owned. Sounds and smells assaulted his memory, driving the fantasy.

  
Curling his finger, he pushed it in further, cock straining through his fist. The tip rubbed against the round nub of his prostate... a bolt of ecstasy shot through him, his hips stuttering, and he felt his balls contract, sending him over the edge. He came hard, spurting his seed across the shower onto the curtain, to be washed away as the cooling spray found it.

Sliding down the wall, spent and shaking, Alan curled up on the floor, cold water beating down from above. He wept. For all he could have had. For Hugh, because he could be dying...and Alan might never know.

Finally, Alan stood up.

Stepping out and drying himself roughly, his mind focused and he made a decision. Falling apart in the shower stall was not him. Alan knew he was stronger than that. He also realized he couldn’t leave Hugh to face this crisis, what ever it might be, under the predacious glare of that woman. Something about her struck him wrong. And the only way to find out the truth was to speak to Hugh.

\-----------------------------------

The campus population seemed to have tripled overnight; students in dark suits and boaties in their varsity jackets swarmed the common areas in excited packs. After weeks of dull, grey weather the sunshine was like a potent drug, and the waterlogged residents of Manchester were helplessly addicted. Alan found that he, himself, was not completely immune to it’s effects. Despite all that had happened, the temperate day felt like a harbinger of good things to come. Spring was here, and with it the hope of resurrection and rebirth.

_Surely that meant something..._

Morning lectures had concluded by the time Alan made his way from campus, into the town and across the manicured stateliness of Whitworth Park to the imposing Royal Infirmary at St. Mary’s Hospital. Inside the main doors, at the reception desk manned by competent nurses in their starched white uniforms, Alan inquired after Hugh. Unfortunately, after an exhaustive search through what looked like a labyrinthine card file system there seemed to be no record of Hugh Alexander as a patient. On the verge of leaving, Alan was approached by a tall, muscular orderly with dark hair, closely cropped, and a military bearing.

“Professor Turing? Is that you, sir?” The man’s voice was deep and booming, with a pronounced north country lilt which gave him an enthusiastic air.

Alan turned. “Yes. I’m sorry...I can’t quite place you? Have we met?”

“Neil Harrison, sir.” He stuck out an enormous callused hand, which Alan shook. “You don’t know me but I sure know who you are. My cousin, Martin Cook, has told me all about working with you in your lab. He says you’re a bonafide genius!”

Declarations of this sort always made Alan uncomfortable. “W-well I don’t know about that, I...”

“I heard you were looking for a patient? I know everyone and everything in the infirmary...can I help you?” Neil’s level of confidence gave the impression of being unshakable.

“I...well I am looking for a friend, a colleague actually, w-who might be here for some kind of treatments but I am not sure what the issue is.”

Alan felt like a fraud, asking for Hugh when he really had no right to be involved. Who was he, really? Friend? He supposed he was. Lover, even. He was that also, but that was just sexual chemistry. Alan admitted to himself that he had hoped...for what? He wasn't sure.

Alan realized Neil was staring at him, waiting politely. “His name is Hugh Alexander.”

“But I know him!” It became quickly apparent that Neil’s initial claims were not altogether unfounded. “He is part of Doctor McCarthy’s trials on the third floor. Let me take you there.”

Without really waiting for an answer, Neil gestured to the stairs and began to climb. Alan followed, trying to decide if Hugh would be pleased to see him or aghast. Would his fiancé be there? Alan had to admit to himself that she was right about one thing- if Hugh had wanted Alan to know about his illness he would surely have told him. Emotions warred within, his anxiety growing as he climbed the marble stairs behind the broad back of the orderly.

_And yet I have to know..._

The third floor was dominated by a long, light-filled open ward with rows of beds, some surrounded by white curtained dividers. Nurses bustled efficiently from patient to patient. A group of lab-coated doctors were gathered at one end, discussing a chart. Neil asked Alan to wait while he went and inquired about Hugh’s situation.

He returned with a young bespectacled doctor, a stethoscope slung around his neck. “Mr. Turing? I’m Doctor McCarthy. Mr. Alexander is not awake at the moment. We have him sedated as his reaction to the initial dosage of the hexamethonium was quite severe. His blood pressure is stable now, however, so don’t be concerned. We should be able to continue his clinical trial as an outpatient in a few days.”

Alan glanced up at Neil, who was standing behind the doctor and nodded his head knowingly as if to say ‘go along with it’. It was obvious the Doctor believed Alan was already aware of Hugh’s condition. Alan swallowed nervously.

“May I see him?” Alan was afraid to ask anything further for fear of giving his deception away.

“Certainly. This way, please.” Doctor McCarthy led them to the end of the ward, to a corner bed surrounded by monitors and cordoned off from the rest by privacy curtains on two sides. Inside, swathed in white cotton sheets, was Hugh.

“I’ll leave you to keep him company. If you need anything further...please don’t hesitate.” Doctor McCarthy favored Alan with an appraising look. A wan smile spread over his face, as if he had come to a conclusion about Alan. Turning back to his professional duties, Doctor McCarthy saw that Neil was still standing with Alan, with an expectant air. He pointed decisively at the orderly. “Come with me, Mr. Harrison. I require your services."

Alan was alone with Hugh once again.

Pulling up a small, metal swivel stool Alan sat quietly by the bed. Someone had placed a small vase of pale purple crocuses on the bedside table. Alan wondered if it was Hugh's fiancé.

_If it were me, would anyone bring me flowers?_

Looking at Hugh like this....so vulnerable with his face pale and drawn against the stark white pillow, Alan felt a surge of protectiveness. All the hurt and anger that had been consuming Alan since last night evaporated. He knew he would forgive Hugh for not telling him. Alan could understand the need to keep certain things private.

Perhaps Hugh had planned to tell him. Perhaps Hugh couldn’t find the time..or the words..

Alan felt the tears gathering, heat prickling his eyes and nose. Choking the useless speculation down, he reached up carefully, laying his hand over Hugh’s hand, the warm contact the only reassurance he could offer. He rubbed his thumb along the other mans knuckles, soothingly, trying to impart some measure of comfort. Uncertainty was rare in Alan’s life now. It was why science appealed to him. The proof was always there, somewhere, waiting to be discovered. This was so different. At that moment he had no idea how to help.

Prayer held no appeal. He could still remember, when Christopher had died, the tightness in his his chest as he struggled to keep his composure in front of the headmaster. In that instant Alan had decided God was either the wishful thinking of of people who couldn't accept reality or a creator who had abandoned them and just didn’t care. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Atheism became his credo.

And now, he found himself back in the same nightmare. Somehow, despite the trauma of losing his first love, he had opened himself up to caring again. And now that his heart had been opened, it would not be contained, no matter how hard he tried.

Lifting Hugh's hand to his lips, he kissed it lightly, a treacherous tear rolling down to run along the contact.

"So I was right!" The shrill woman's voice came from behind him, the incriminating tone clear.

Alan jumped to his feet, spinning to face his accuser. Hugh's hand dropped to the sheets.

The expression on Lucy Stone's face was one of anger and revulsion. "You will leave this instant or I will call those doctors over and reveal to them the pervert in their midst."

Alan stepped back as Lucy moved toward Hugh, turning as if she were defending him from something dangerous. She clutched Hugh's limp hand forcefully, as if staking her claim to him. A unkempt mass of dark curls falling down over her face seemed to add an unstable element to her actions.

Far from feeling threatened, Alan realized this Lucy Stone, whoever she was, did not intimidate him. But perhaps it was best not to cause a scene.

Picking up his coat, and folding it over his arm, Alan looked down at Hugh's sleeping face. Lucy bristled at that, pulling their clasped hands up in front of her as if doing so would deny Alan something important.

_She has no engagement ring._

Turning briskly, Alan walked away and down the aisle of the hospital ward. He knew he would return. Return and find out the truth.

 

Royal Infirmary, Manchester                                                     Hospital Ward, St. Mary's Manchester 1911

                


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To be known and to know someone is an amazing feeling, and you don't get there if you're pretending to be someone else." -Tom Hiddleston

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for stalking behavior in this and the next few chapters.

By the time he saw Hugh pass by, his gait unsteady but determined, the night had well and truly fallen. Streetlights shed pools of gold over the darkening sidewalks, pushing back the shadowy corners. The early evening flood of pedestrians had slowed to a trickle and the few weeknight patrons at the City Arms had downed their pints and set out for hearth and home.

Stationed at a small table by the lead glass windows of the pub, a second glass of golden tawny port sitting untouched between his steepled hands, Alan was trying to ignore the furtive looks from Mr. Macomb as closing time approached. His supper had been finished an hour ago; a conscious effort to savour Mr. Macomb’s signature Steak and Ale Pie, with it’s buttery flaky crust and luscious meat and cheese filling, made all the more difficult by the anxiety of a day spent searching for Hugh. The relief that washed over him as he finally spotted his friend, and the desperate state of the emotions it betrayed, would be obvious to anyone, but Alan found he didn’t care.

Rising from his seat, Alan hastened to don his overcoat, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet and throwing two pound notes carelessly on the table top. By the time he stepped out into the rather crisp evening air, Hugh was just turning the corner toward his home. Alan followed, feeling a bit clandestine for having lain in wait all that time, uncertain of what he would say once he caught up. _Where had Hugh been all day?_

As Alan approached the foot of the darkened stairwell leading to Hugh’s flat he could see that the door was standing open. Cautiously, he crept up to the landing and peered into the open entrance. Hugh was not in sight.

“Hugh?” Alan called out softly. “It’s Alan...is everything alright?”

There was no answer so he stepped inside, suddenly concerned. Hugh had not turned on any lights and the hallway was in shadows. The only light source was tepid moonlight, filtered through the opaque curtains covering the sitting room windows, which was making flickering forays into the hall. Alan raised his hands to the wall, orienting himself by dragging his fingertips along the bumpy wallpaper as he walked, treading lightly.

Rounding the corner, he stopped abruptly..stunned by what he saw.

\----------------------------------------

_The last few days of uncertainty had taken their toll, especially after the confrontation at the hospital. Sleep had been elusive; the bed had become a battleground. Self condemnation warred with needy fantasy. One minute he was vowing to never touch Hugh again, certain he was a fool for becoming so entangled when he should be focused on his work. Minutes later he woke again, sweaty and aroused at the memory of Hugh’s hot fingers stroking his backside and the starkly vulnerable look on his face as his climax swept over him, flushed and exhilarating._

_His feelings for the other man were frightening in their intensity. And despite the passion they had shared, Alan had no idea if Hugh returned those feelings. While he was beginning to suspect that Hugh’s relationship with this Lucy Stone woman was not all she claimed it was, it would surely offer Hugh something Alan never could...respectability._

_The churning thoughts were exhausting and in the small hours of the morning he had given up, curling up under a blanket against the morning chill, a steaming cup of Darjeeling warming his hands and stared out the garden windows contemplating a world at slumber. Ironically, later that morning he had dozed off at his breakfast only to be startled awake by a passing car horn, spilling his now tepid second cup of tea across the table and soaking yesterday’s copy of the Manchester Evening News._

_Visiting hours at the Royal Infirmary were restricted to the afternoon so Alan had thrown himself into his research project that day, refusing to allow the tumult of his emotions to get the best of him. Seated on the laboratory floor, surrounded by wires and tubing, his mind felt free for the first time in days, absorbed in the intricacies of his design._

_Students flowed in and out, sometimes speaking to him, though he could not recall a single word of their conversations. Time blurred past. When he finally stood to stretch, he realized lunch had passed some time ago. Rubbing his eyes, dry and irritated from hours of concentrated work, he yawned._

_Half on hour later, Alan was striding purposefully down the glossy aisle of the third floor ward, eyes searching for signs of Lucy Stone. She was not there, but puzzlingly, neither was Hugh. His bed had been made up with crisp new linens, and the vase of flowers was missing._

“ _Professor Turing!” Alan turned to see Dr. McCarthy coming toward him, a smile on his face. He extended his hand in greeting and Alan shook it. “It is good to see you again. You’ve just missed Mr. Alexander, I’m afraid.”_

_“W-was he discharged? So soon?” Alan asked._

_The young doctor nodded, pushing up his glasses and brushing a strand of blonde hair from his face. “He is much recovered this morning. He will be continuing his treatments on an out patient basis. His blood pressure is already improving, despite the incident with Ms. Stone earlier.”_

_Alan frowned. “What incident are you referring to?”_

_Dr. McCarthy paused, a thoughtful look on his face._

_“Hmmm...I think we are all aware that Ms. Stone is not emotionally stable. She confronted Mr. Alexander today, just after he had returned form his final blood draw, and quickly became irate.” McCarthy explained, his expression full of sympathy. “She was yelling about your visit yesterday, and had smashed the vase of flowers by the time the orderlies dragged her out.”_

_“Dr. McCarthy, I think I should explain about Hugh’s fiancé ...” Alan began._

_The Doctor put his hand up. “No need, Mr. Turing. You needn’t be concerned as she has been banned from the hospital for her outburst. And...I think we both know she is not really Mr. Alexander’s fiancé.”_

_The two men exchanged a look that said volumes._

_Dr.McCarthy favored Alan with a bemused smile. “He was a bit upset when he left, but I imagine you should be able to catch up with him at his flat. He needs to rest now and to be protected from the stress of people like Ms. Stone. I suspect you’re the man for that job.”_

\---------------------------------------

Hugh spun around at the sound of Alan’s gasp, almost tripping over the debris strewn across the floor. Even in the darkness of the room, Alan could see the stricken look on his face. Hugh was standing in the middle of a sitting room that had been destroyed. Broken glass sparkled like icy frost over broken furniture and ripped clothing. A cool breeze poured through a shattered window, sending pages of ruined books swirling into the air around him.

The person who had wreaked this havoc had been very angry. Alan could guess who that had been.

Hugh flung his hands out...then realized who it was. “God...Alan. You scared the hell out of me!”

Hugh’s voice was rough and slurred, his face drawn and pale. Alan could see blood, luridly red in the monochrome lighting, streaming down a large cut in Hugh’s hand. Hugh wavered on his feet, suddenly looking like he would collapse.

Alan launched himself forward, catching Hugh and steadying him. They stumbled.

“You’re bleeding Hugh.” Alan sat Hugh down on the sofa and went to the washroom to find first aid supplies. Hugh was mumbling, the sour smell of beer on his breath. The medicine cupboard had been flung open, supplies and pill bottles littered the tile floor. Alan searched through the mess and found rubbing alcohol and some gauze. Gathering everything he closed the cupboard.

There...scrawled in lipstick across the mirror was a message. A threat.

“ **YOU ARE MINE”**

Alan could almost picture Lucy scrawling it on the mirror. This situation was getting dangerous. Hugh couldn’t stay here.

Back in the destroyed sitting room Hugh had passed out on the sofa. Alan was not sure what the cause was. It was obvious that Hugh had been drinking, but he was also ill. Sitting down carefully Alan reached up to brush a strand of lank hair from Hugh's eyes. There was one thing that Alan knew for sure. Hugh needed help. He shook his friend awake and arranged the bandages.

“This will sting a bit Hugh. I am sorry.” Hugh hissed in pain as Alan applied the alcohol to sterilize the cut. “How did you cut yourself?”

“I fell and put my hands out to break the fall. Just unlucky, I guess.”

Alan could only imagine how painful it must be. He focused on the business of cleaning the wound, swabbing it with alcohol and wrapping the hand with gauze. Hugh looked up, his face so close Alan could feel his warm breath across his cheek as he worked.

"I'm sorry, Alan. The doctor told me you had been to the hospital. I...I should have told you." There was so much emotion behind those words.

Alan paused, looking up at Hugh. He was close enough to kiss, and despite all that had happened, Alan felt a surge of want. He looked down at the hand again. "Why did you not? Tell me, I mean..."

Hugh sighed. "I suppose I just wanted one night with you. Before the treatments started and reality sunk it's ugly claws into me...I just wanted to know what it would feel like."

Alan's mind was filled with so much. He wasn't sure what to say.

Finishing with dressing the wound, he gathered any clothing he could find amongst the destruction and packed everything in a grocery sack from the kitchen. They needed to leave. Unfortunately, calling the police was not an option; Alan had no doubt Lucy would use her suspicions about their relationship against them. Miraculously, he found the telephone still plugged into the wall. He called for a taxicab.

Sitting down next to Hugh he waited for their ride to arrive. “You cannot stay here. She is dangerous.”

“Who?” Hugh said cautiously, his voice a forlorn whisper.

Alan felt an unexpected surge of anger. He stood suddenly and began to pace. “You know damn well who! Lucy Stone...your....bloody fiancé.”

Hugh sat up, wavering in his seat and stared at Alan, eyes blurry and unfocused. “How? What did she say to you? Oh God, Alan let me explain..."

An impatient horn sounded from the street below. The taxi had arrived. Alan went to the window and waved to the driver.

"We will talk later. When you are safe and recovering from...all this." As anxious as Alan was to have some answers, there was no knowing when the disturbed woman might return. Alan helped Hugh stand and, clothing bag in hand, they hobbled slowly down to the taxi.

One hour later Alan sat on the edge of his own bed, his eyes moving over Hugh's handsome features, and contemplated what he would do next. The anger he felt earlier had faded, leaving behind a fierce desire to defend Hugh. From his crazed admirer. From the disease he was battling. From the uncaring world at large.

Removing his shoes and socks, Alan shuffled onto the bed next to this man he thought he knew. This man who had just wanted one night with him. He hoped Hugh might want more than just one night. He wrapped his arms and legs around Hugh's warm, slumbering body. There was so much more to the story that Alan didn't know. But now....right this moment....he would hold Hugh and push the world away for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe for Steak and Cheese Pie  
> http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/beef-recipes/steak-guinness-and-cheese-pie-with-a-puff-pastry-lid/#Q3GfsJK4Crm950sg.97


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When the night falls on you,  
> you don't know what to do,  
> Nothing you confess,  
> Could make me love you less.  
> I'll stand by you.."
> 
> The Pretenders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the tags that have been added. Things are getting seriously hot between these two. This chapter has some explicit detail so be forewarned.
> 
> Enjoy.

Alan had finished breakfast and begun in on the dishes, the sink full of soft, warm suds sliding down the plate and slipping through his fingers a tactile backdrop to his brooding thoughts, when Hugh finally woke up. It was, in reality, closer to noon, and the sun was already high in the cloudless pale blue of the sky outside Alan’s little house. The green canvas cushions on the chaise in the garden, covered with chilly beads of dew in the early morning when Alan had first crept out with his ritual cup of tea, were now dry and warm to the touch.

Hugh had been exhausted, tossing and turning, his night more turmoil than rest and so Alan had let him sleep on. He rang the University, rescheduling his day and arranging for his students to complete certain tasks over the next few days he intended to be absent. Every so often Alan would peer through the doorway, studying Hugh's face, smiling as the other man shifted softly, his mouth slack and hair rumpled. The ache of affection he felt at such times should concern him, he knew this, but he had decided early on to allow it a foothold and now it had enveloped his heart, leaving a warm glow he found difficult to deny.

No matter what the circumstances turned out to be, Alan intended to be there for Hugh. This time he would not let illness take love from his life before it had even had a chance to establish itself. He would fight for Hugh and take the chance at a life together that he had never had with Christopher.

It felt strangely comforting to have someone sleeping in the next room.

The thought of Hugh was a warm presence that followed Alan as he went about his morning, like a melody, and he found himself humming softly as he put on the kettle or smiling as he picked up Hugh’s jacket that had been carelessly thrown on a chair last night, hanging it on the entry way stand. Perhaps it was foolish, almost certainly so with all the problems the world had thrown in their way, but it was the idea of having someone. Of having Hugh.

Of course they needed to talk. He would make sure they did.

There was much to work out, and Alan still felt a twinge of anger and frustration at Hugh’s lack of transparency. There was an explanation for Lucy Stone, he felt sure, though he couldn’t imagine what it would be. Hugh had become a celebrity, in an odd way, when he won the British Chess Championships the year before. Perhaps this disturbed woman had read about him in the papers, even attended a competition, and become fixated. He had read about such things.

Finishing the washing up, Alan turned to reach for the dish towel and was startled by the sight of Hugh, leaning in the doorway, watching him. He was wrapped loosely in Alan’s faded blue terrycloth robe, barefoot, and a shadow of yesterdays beard peppered his jawline. A sleepy smile graced his face.

“Had I known you were so domestic I would have asked for breakfast in bed.” Alan felt his face flush at Hugh’s teasing tone.

“W-would you now?” Alan responded with a sheepish grin, turning away to finish drying the dishes. “And you believe I would be serving this meal to you, I imagine?”

Hugh huffed out a laugh. He walked over to the sink and held up his bandaged hand. “Well, I am an invalid now.”

Hugh had meant the remark as humour, but the reminder brought back last nights events and Alan frowned as he set the plate in the drying rack. The dish towel twisted fretfully in his hand. Surely Hugh, of all people, understood how serious the situation was. He dreaded the conversation, but perhaps they needed to talk now. His mind scrambled as he tried to think of the words....a way to bring the subject up.

Alan felt a warm hand on his shoulder; it stroked his arm, and he saw Hugh, head tilted thoughtfully, trying to catch his eye. Hugh’s voice was suddenly subdued. “Sorry...that was not wise, bringing that up. I don’t mean to make light of the situation.”

Alan looked up, meeting the other mans rueful gaze. Hugh was very close to him. He could feel the sleep warmed heat of his body bleeding through the robe and feel the weight of his hand as it squeezed his arm.

Thoughts...desire, treacherous and heady, swirled in his mind. God, he would love to forget the outside world and indulge in a long, sensuous kiss. _What was it about this man?_ Just standing beside him, the proximity, triggered a reaction in his body, a flush that spread like fire. With everything they had been through in the last week, all he could think of was.... He glanced at Hugh’s lips, slightly chapped.

No, he needed to focus. To figure out what happened last night. Surely he was owed an explanation. If this was going to be more, someday, than a nights passion, they needed to trust each other. They needed to talk. “Hugh, tell me w-who is Lucy Stone?”

His voice sounded more unsure than Alan would have liked. Hugh ignored his question, moving closer to him. The world narrowed to the few inches that separated them, becoming heated with the almost electric current, charged and intoxicating.

Hugh’s hand reached up, cupping his cheek. His thumbs stroked softly, hesitantly, across the swell of Alan’s lower lip. Alan couldn’t help himself. Closing his lips over Hugh’s thumb, he sucked lightly. The other man’s reaction was immediate. Exhaling in a rush of warm breath, Hugh pried his mouth open with his thumb, drawing him into a wet, passionate kiss, tongue plunging into Alan’s mouth, urgently demanding a response.

All questions and concerns fled Alan’s mind as Hugh pressed his body against him, firm and real. He knew he should stop this, should insist they talk but....

Hugh groaned, backing Alan up against the counter and grinding his hips against him, his excitement building. Alan’s hand slipped inside the robe, fingertips skimming lightly around the hot, bare skin of Hugh’s waist, and stroking up and down his back as they kissed. Alan could feel the other man’s arousal, insistent and hard, pressing into his leg and rubbing. His own body was responding, his cock filling.

He dipped his hand below the waistband of Hugh’s boxers, sliding his palm over a firm cheek, squeezing and rubbing. The pad of his index finger probed into the crease. Hugh gasped into Alan’s mouth, and the grinding of his hips stilled. Sliding his index finger down, Alan rubbed the tight knot of muscle at Hugh’s entrance. Hugh’s entire body was quivering, Alan could feel his own cock twitch at the movement.

Hugh was panting now, his breath hot and moist in Alan’s ear, his tone pleading and desperate. “Alan...I want...I need to feel you. Oh God, I want you inside me....”

Something in Alan, a primal hunger, urgent and long buried beneath the layers of respectability and denial, broke loose. Blood pounding in his head, he gripped Hugh by the arms, turning him forcefully and bending him over the kitchen table.

“Yes....” Hugh hissed, rucking up the bathrobe awkwardly with his bandaged hand, pulling down his pants, while the other hand gripped the table edge, white knuckled.

Alan smoothed his hand along the other man’s backside, rubbing, exploring. Hugh’s arse was firm and round, covered in light, downy hair. The part of Alan that questioned what they were doing was rapidly being devoured by the his need to take Hugh. He had never felt such an urge to dominate...hadn’t known he had it in him.

With one trembling hand, Alan unbuttoned his collared shirt, while the other kneaded the taut muscles of Hugh’s buttocks, running his thumb up and down the crease....fascinated by the display in front of him and the soft little gasps he was drawing out of Hugh. The shirt was quickly discarded. He started undoing his trousers, the metallic peel of the zipper causing Hugh to stiffen under his touch, and they dropped in a pile on the cool linoleum tiles.

A small doubt crept into Alan’s mind...what if he had misunderstood? How much of this was his own need to claim Hugh? He wasn’t sure he could trust himself. The tension in Hugh’s back said he was as scared of this all consuming lust as Alan was...

He leaned forward, running his fingers through Hugh’s hair...soothing.

“Hugh? Talk to me...Are you sure you want this?” Alan pressed soft kisses into his lovers neck and shoulders, trying to show Hugh how he felt. The taste of Hugh’s skin like a drug that went straight to cock. He didn’t know how he would stop himself, but he would stop, somehow, if Hugh was not ready.

Hugh turned his head, eyes drifting up to meet Alan’s concerned look. He raised his good hand in invitation and Alan took it in his own, lacing their fingers together.

His voice was low, but charged with a deep need. He did not move from the table. “I have wanted this for so, so long...wanted you...I need this. God, Alan..don’t make me beg for it.”

Alan straightened, casting around for something they could use. He had never done this, outside of his own furtive fantasies, but he had some idea of how it was done. He would have to go slow....

His hand reached for a bottle of cooking oil on the counter. Coating his fingers liberally he slid one fingertip into Hugh’s arsehole. The noise it elicited from Hugh was somewhere between a whine and a whimper. It was maddening. The tight, heated velvet of Hugh’s insides gripping his finger made Alan’s cock throb in anticipation. He slid the finger in to the knuckle, leaning down to gage Hugh’s reaction, his other hand still intertwined with Hugh’s, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. Hugh’s moans reverberated through the table top.

Alan added a second finger and began to pump them slowly into Hugh, opening him. Hugh scooted back a bit, pushing his arse up into him, his engorged penis falling free to swing below the tables edge. Sensing the desperation in Hugh’s movements, and thrilling at the frantic, plaintive little grunts coming from his lover, the last reserve of Alan’s patience evaporated.  
Leaning back up, he pulled out his fingers and carefully slicked up his own prick. He rubbed the swollen tip, glistening with kitchen oil, down between Hugh’s cheeks, his other hand holding the man’s hips in place firmly. Lining up, he pushed in slowly, transfixed as the head of his prick popped past the tight ring of muscle. He had to close his eyes and concentrate on controlling the feeling. _Slowly....don’t force it_.

Hugh shifted beneath him. His breathing was coming in small, shallow panting gasps. “Don’t stop...mmm...Alan...”

“Bloody hell....” Alan cursed as he slid further in, the resistance slowly giving way, opening for him, swallowing him whole. Buried all the way into Hugh, he paused, allowing them both to catch their breath. Alan rubbed his hand up under the soft terrycloth of the bathrobe still covering Hugh’s upper back, stroking, his hand slipping up through the thin sheen of sweat breaking out between Hugh’s shoulder blades. He fought the urge to move, trying to let Hugh get used to the feeling.

_I can’t believe I am doing this. This is really happening._

Finally, he felt Hugh begin to relax a bit. Alan began to rock his hips, small, almost imperceptible movements at first, which quickly grew into thrusts. Burying his hard length from tip to root, hips snapping forward almost by instinct, Alan pushed in as deeply as he could. His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering closed and he bit his lip, trying to keep the guttural moan of pleasure from escaping.

Hugh’s hand scrambled for purchase, as Alan set into a forceful rhythm, the wooden table beneath him protesting loudly. The wet slap as Alan pounded into the slick clench of Hugh’s hole grew louder; Hugh writhed under him, trying to push himself back into Alan, trying to force him deeper.

Alan could sense Hugh was getting close to his release, and fumbled until he found Hugh’s neglected cock, flopping untouched, gripping it, he stroked it in short, deft pulls. Hugh keened, attempting to pump into Alan’s fist. Suddenly, he went rigid, his arse spasming around Alan’s cock, squeezing it hard, as he came in spurts, splattering the floor under the table.

“Oh Hugh, oh fuck, I....” Alan thrust in once, twice more and felt the shock of his orgasm rip through him as he pulsed deep inside Hugh, balls tight, legs straining up, fingers digging into Hugh’s hips almost painfully, holding him down.

 

                                                                                                         -------------------------------------

 

Alan battled embarrassment and giddiness in equal measure as he ran the bath, drawing the last measure of the hot water to fill the enormous cast iron tub. Unable to even glance over at Hugh as he stood quietly by the sink, observing, Alan was unsure what to say. Never in his life, even alone in the dark of his bed, pleasuring himself as his mind conjured scenarios, each more explicit than the next, had Alan ever imagined what had just happened in his kitchen. In his dreams he had always been the one to submit, begging his faceless lover to take him.

But that was not what had happened. Something in Hugh, the need in his eyes, had brought out a different side of Alan. A side he wasn’t sure he liked.

He had pulled his pants back on, but they did little to help the matter, sticking to him in odd places where the kitchen oil clung to the thin cotton fabric.

“I hope this isn’t too hot for you...” Alan mumbled. “I have a flannel here and soap. I, uh, could help...if you need assistance getting into the tub...w-with your hand bandaged.”

He realized he was babbling. Reaching for a clean towel, he gestured, flashing Hugh a quick smile and holding out his hand. Hugh slipped off the robe, laying it across the laundry basket, and stepped up to the tub. He took the hand Alan proffered, climbing gingerly into the water, and settling with a sigh.

“Alan, you are covered in oil too,” Hugh remarked, holding on to Alan’s hand, tugging him back as he attempted an escape, “and I think I will require some help soaping up...join me?”

Alan hesitated, but then nodded. The intimacy of bathing Hugh, the thought of holding him, caring for him after he had just taken him so forcefully felt...like absolution. For what he was not sure.

Stripping off his sticky pants, he stepped over the high lip of the tub, sinking down behind Hugh, heat and steam enveloping him. Alan arranged his long legs around either side of Hugh and began to carefully bathe his back with a flannel and bar of Yardley’s. The sent of lavender pervaded the air, and both men relaxed in comfortable silence, broken only by the slosh of water and the occasional gentle request to lift an arm or lean forward.

After both men were clean, Hugh scooted back and settled his warm, slippery backside against Alan, who slipped his arms under the soap filmed surface of the bath, sliding around Hugh’s waist and pulling him in tightly. Alan was loath to break the air of tranquility between them. He tried to concentrate on the here and now, absorbing the feeling of Hugh, slack and pliant in his arms.

Hugh broke through the silence. “I don’t know how I deserve you.”

  
“Hugh...” Alan began.

“You’ve been so patient. So willing to give me a chance. I thought....when I came to Manchester, that I could see you again...that we could be friends..again,” Hugh’s words were almost a whisper, “but I never dared hope for what we have here...”

“You knew I was here?” Alan was more than surprised.

“I knew you had accepted a position here.” Hugh sighed, “When I found out the clinical trials were also here, I thought...well...it seemed like I was meant to find you again.”

Hugh twisted in his arms, turning to look into Alan’s eyes, searching them for a reaction. Alan smiled, leaning over to kiss the uncertainty from Hugh’s lips, the kiss becoming deep and intense. Minutes slipped by, each man engrossed in the sensual pleasure of each other.

Eventually, Hugh stopped, turning back around, pulling Alan’s arms back around his waist. He lowered his gaze, studying the glassy ripples in the water.

“You asked who Lucy Stone is?”

“Yes.” Alan responded quietly. “W-when I came round, that night when you were recovering in hospital, she told me she was your fiancé.”

Hugh sat forward suddenly, running his hand through his wet hair in what looked like frustration. Emotion colored his voice. “She is _not_ my fiancé! Though I know she would like to be, I have never given her cause to think I wanted to marry her.  When I left London, she knew this!”

“Were you...how do you know her?” Alan could hear the anxiety in his words. “You w-were involved with her?”

Hugh was silent.

“Hugh, I know you have been with many women...” Alan started.

Hugh’s laugh had a bitter flavor. “No. I haven’t.”

“But, I thought...”

“I know. My playboy reputation. I have no one to blame but myself for that.” Hugh shook his head.

“All those stories you told?” Alan couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from his tone.

“Were a sham. Aside from the odd snog, I never touched those women. I knew....knew who I really was. But..I couldn’t admit it, even to myself. Certainly not to Peter or Joan or you.”

Alan’s was dumbfounded. “Was I the first man you have been involved with?”

“No. I have had a few encounters, I guess you would call them.” Hugh snorting derisively, “But never this...never what we have.”

“And Ms. Stone?”

The sigh was heavier this time. “My mother introduced us, when I returned home to recover from my first time in hospital. She would invite Lucy, and her mother, over for dinner, hoping I might consider settling down.”

There was a pause. Alan was silent, not wanting to stop the confession. Needing to know the truth, once and for all.

Hugh continued. “I was drunk that night. No...I can’t justify my actions the night I ...slept with her. I guess...I thought if I tried, I might find...I just wanted to be a normal man.”

He sounded so bereft. Alan’s heart ached for him. He reached out to lay a comforting hand on Hugh’s back.

Hugh attempted to rise from the bathtub, his movements precariously out of balance. Alan rushed to help him out. Hugh stood, dripping on the tiles, unwilling to meet Alan’s eyes. Alan dried them both, handing Hugh the robe and wrapping himself in a towel from the cupboard above the toilet.

Alan brought Hugh clean clothes and then, crossing the hallway and closing the door behind him, dressed himself silently, moving about his bedroom, contemplating what had been said. He could sympathize with the need to have a life where people accepted you. Being homosexual had all but condemned Alan to a life of isolation and the constant fear of looking over your shoulder. It was not an easy thing to accept about oneself.

Despite the feelings of disappointment, even an illogical sense of betrayal, that tried to overwhelm Alan, he knew...he loved Hugh. Call it insane, but he loved him and he thought Hugh just might love him too. The thought of Hugh standing out there, uncertain of what Alan would do now, thinking he might leave him....

Alan walked into the lounge, straight over to Hugh, and pulled him into an embrace which he hoped would leave no doubt as to his affections. Hugh arms flew around Alan’s back, squeezing him, and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Alan stroked his hair, kissing the unruly mop.

“Don’t ever think, for even a moment, that I will allow this to come between us.” Alan pulled back, cupping Hugh’s face in his hands. He could see the tracks of tears on his lovers cheeks. “I’m in love with you Hugh. I will never let anyone take that away. Do you understand? I love you.”

Hugh nodded, tension draining out of his face. “And I you...”

The shrill braying of the telephone in the hallway interrupted them. Alan kissed Hugh lightly and then went to answer the call.

He came back in, stopping in the doorway, a stunned expression on his face. Hugh turned from the window he had been looking out of.  
“What is it?”

Alan could not believe it. “That was Doctor McCarthy. He has been trying to find you. Lucy Stone showed up, demanding to be seen. Hugh...she’s pregnant.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love that is not madness, is not love." - Pedro Calderon de la Barca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I put in some research, please forgive any mistakes or errors in my 1950's medical knowledge. The clinical trials on Hexamethonium were taking place during this time in London. Hugh's condition, malignant hypertension, was a devastating condition which killed many people. Today it is controlled by simple blood pressure medications but back then it was a major killer.
> 
> See research article in end notes for more info.
> 
> Warnings in end notes so as to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Enjoy!

The bright noonday sun beamed intensely through the pointed Gothic windows that lined the polished hallway running the length of the fourth floor, engulfing the line of burnished wood chairs where Alan and Hugh waited in starkly outlined squares of radiance. Alan could feel the heat baking into the back of his neck, unknotting muscles that had been clenched in tension since this mornings phone call.

_She is going to have Hugh’s child._

The thought had been racing through his mind, sowing doubt. Alan knew, believed with all his heart, that Hugh wanted what they had. But a child....a family and all that came with it...that was something Alan could never give him. Ruthlessly, he razed all thoughts of the child, of Lucy Stone, from his mind.

Hugh sat to his left, pensively shifting in the uncomfortable seating, staring at the floor, silently consumed with his own thoughts. Alan studied his lover surreptitiously, taking in the way he chewed his lower lip unconsciously, the way the haze of sunlight outlined each eyelash in a soft glow, the subtle rise and fall of each breath. Sudden flashes of memory assaulted Alan: Hugh bleeding in the wrecked flat, Hugh spread wanton beneath him on the  
table, Hugh kissing his forehead that very morning, soft, like a benediction. It was hard to sit here and passively witness his anxiety. He struggled against the urge to take his hand, provide some comfort. But no... that would have to wait until they were safely back at home. All he could do now was share the wait.

Hugh glanced up and caught him staring. “Sorry. You don’t have to stay. They do seem to be quite unconcerned with punctuality.”

Alan shook his head. “I am c-content to stay here w-with you. Surely the University can survive a few days without me.”

“Mmmm.” Hugh hummed his agreement, favoring Alan with a wry smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Alan considered whether to speak. No matter what the news about Lucy Stone was, Alan knew how he felt. He would support Hugh in whatever he chose. He pushed down the trepidation that held him back. “Hugh...we haven’t talked about this yet, but...h-how do you feel about having a child? Is this something you’ve wanted?”

Hugh’s expression went through several changes. He swallowed. “Alan, I don’t know what...I never...”

Suddenly a door opened across the hall. Both men looked up, startled.

“Hugh Alexander!” A nurse called loudly, clipboard in hand, white starched hat pinned neatly to her head.

Hugh rose, gathering his coat and newspaper. He turned to Alan, eyes wide. “Will you come in with me?”

“O-of course. Certainly...” Alan stood hastily. He hadn’t been sure, until now, how much Hugh wanted to share about his illness. He had told Alan, in the taxi to the hospital, that he had been suffering from malignant hypertension for several years. The stress of the war, and the pressure to crack the code, exacerbated an already dangerous situation. It was amazing that he hadn't suffered an aneurism.

Hugh divulging his illness was one thing, but Alan hadn't wanted to assume too much. Now...well, he had to admit he felt relief. Relief that Hugh wanted him there. It said something about how close they had become.

They started in through the door into the doctor’s office. The nurse cleared her throat loudly, pursing her lips, and addressed Alan. “Are you family sir?”

He paused. “N-no. I am a friend and...”

“I’m sorry sir, but only family are allowed in the room for the procedure.”

She stepped in front of Alan, disapproval plain on her face. “You’ll need to wait out here.”

Hugh turned. “Excuse me, would it be possible...”

“I’m sorry Mr. Alexander. Hospital policy.” Her tone said she was used to being obeyed. Hugh shot Alan a pained look, the apology in his eyes.

An inner door opened and Doctor McCarthy appeared, his ruffled blonde hair in contrast to his crisp, white lab coat and polished shoes.

“Are we all set here?” He waved them both forward. “Come through please. You also, Professor Turing. I have some things I wish to discuss with you.”

“But Doctor, hospital policy....” The nurse began to protest.

Holding up his hand, Doctor McCarthy cut her off. “It’s fine, Nurse Caldwell. I will take responsibility for Professor Turing.”  
They passed through into the interior exam room, the closing door preventing any further comments, though Alan swore he could feel her glare following them in. The exam room had a decor which could most charitably be described as sterile. A large metal exam table, encased in stiff, white cotton sheets stood in the middle, with a small rolling stool beside it. Various electronic monitors and machines sat atop dull metallic counters.

They were led further back into Doctor McCarthy’s office and offered two comfortable chairs. Alan scanned the room, taking in the shelves of thick, leather-bound books, the large ornately framed diplomas and licenses and piles of papers stacked in every conceivable corner, the clutter in marked contrast to the sanitary starkness of the exam room. One window on the far side overlooked the interior courtyard of the hospital; a verdant stretch of neatly clipped lawn was visible, miniature white uniformed hospital personnel dotting its face. The were quite high up on the fourth floor.

Doctor McCarthy took off his glasses, placing them on his desk. He glanced at Hugh’s bandages and frowned. “Would you like to share what happened to your hand, Mr. Alexander?”

“Oh, I cut myself on some broken glass,” Hugh said, “Very clumsy of me really.”

“Indeed.” It was evident from his expression that McCarthy had decided to let that rather transparent explanation stand unchallenged. “Well...I think, perhaps, we should begin by discussing Ms. Stone’s announcement.”

Alan felt his heartbeat speed up. Hugh looked seriously at the doctor. “Did you speak to her personally, Doctor?”

“No. No, I did not. My information comes from a colleague in Obstetrics who was concerned.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the news. “Apparently she is definitely pregnant, at least four months along, and was telling anyone who would listen that her fiancé Hugh Alexander was the father.”

“She is not my fiancé,” Hugh said in a heated tone, “but ...it is possible that I am the father.”

McCarthy's eyes widened in surprise. He glanced at Alan to see his reaction, and then focused back on Hugh. “I see...I’m sorry...I thought..well, I hope you know that you can trust me to be discreet with anything you wish to share with me.”

“I’m not sure what...” Hugh began, a bit of hysteria creeping into his voice.

“I hope you will forgive me for interrupting, but I feel that I should be direct and candid about this.” McCarthy was looking at them both intently.

“Certainly,” Hugh responded, “please...”

“You and Mr. Turing are having an affair.” He held up his hand to forestall any denial from Hugh or Alan. “I recognize the signs....from my own experiences. I know that the medical community, and society at large, views our condition as an illness, but I do not.”

Alan and Hugh stared in shock at McCarthy’s confession. An awkward silence grew in the room. A small clock ticked loudly from an upper shelf. “I hoped you would accept my friendship and support.”

“Thank you, Doctor...” Alan spoke up, pleased with how steady his voice sounded.

“Simon.” McCarthy said. “Please, call me Simon.”

Alan smiled. “Simon then...we appreciate the support..and, of course, your discretion.”

“Do you know if Ms. Stone is still in the hospital or how she may be contacted, if not?” Hugh asked.

“No, I understand she left before they could complete their exam.” Simon explained, “From what I know, she did not leave a way to contact her or any idea of where she was staying while in town.”

They were interrupted a loud knock on the office door. A nurse leaned in the door. “They are ready for Mr. Alexander, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Helen. Please tell them we will be with them shortly.”

The nurse left and McCarthy stood, reaching for his stethoscope. “I expect we have much left to discuss, however I think we should continue later. Come with me please gentlemen.”  
\--------------------------------------------------

Hugh removed his jacket, which he handed to Alan after a moment's indecision, and began to roll up the sleeves of his oxford shirt, exposing the softer, untanned skin of his forearm and the delicate veins there. Alan stared. Soon they would begin to pump these experimental drugs into Hugh...and once again Alan could do nothing but standby and lend whatever mute comfort his presence could provide. Looking around, he decided to take a seat in a small wooden chair in the far corner of the curtained off treatment area, intent on not revealing the agitation roiling inside him.

A series of quiet, competent nurses moved in and out as Alan watched with interest. Hugh seemed as if he was already used to the routine. A calm, restful environment was apparently deemed essential to the success of the treatments, and the only sounds, aside from the muted sounds of the main wards down the hall, were the soft, building whoosh of the inflatable cuff that measured Hugh’s blood pressure, marked off on a mercury thermometer and the brisk efficient scratch of the nurses pens on the charts. Nurses recorded Hugh’s pressure standing and resting, before and after the injection of the drugs.

“Your blood work from Tuesday has come back, Mr. Alexander,” Doctor McCarthy announced as he returned to check on Hugh’s progress, “and we have seen improvement on almost all of the markers we were tracking.”

“Well, that’s good news, at least..” Hugh sounded unsure, despite his remark. He glanced at Alan for support. Alan nodded, flashing him a small smile.

Doctor McCarthy hummed while looking over Hugh's chart. “Mmmm...it’s remarkable in fact. We didn’t expect such progress so quickly. The clinical trials at Hammersmith Hospital in London required a lengthy period of adjustment, attempting to determine the proper dosage for each patient.”

Putting the chart down, he placed the stethoscope in his ears and leaned over Hugh’s bared chest to listen intently. Hugh seemed used to this, drawing in deep breathes at regular intervals with his eyes closed. His handsome face looked relaxed and trusting.

“You may put your shirt back on for the time being.” Doctor McCarthy made notes on the chart as he went through the exam. “Have you had any further headaches or breathlessness since the first round of treatments?”

Hugh looked up, shrugging his shoulders. “The headaches have improved since last week, but I have noticed some dizziness when I stand up too rapidly.”

“That was a very common side effect of the drug in the London trials.” McCarthy turned to include Alan in the conversation. “It indicates hypotension, meaning your blood pressure has dropped too fast. I will have to adjust the hexamethonium dosage in the next round down to 52mg subcutaneous.”

As McCarthy conferred with a colleague over Hugh’s results, comparing them to the other patients in the trials who were resting in neighboring beds, Alan rose to take a break. It had been several hours since lunch and a cup of tea would not go amiss.

“I’m going to indulge in a cigarette and a cup of tea.” Alan’s hand reached down to Hugh’s shoulder as he spoke, squeezing it affectionately. “Would you like me to bring something back for you?”

“I think I’ll take a short nap, if it’s all the same. They encourage us to rest as much as possible during the treatments to keep our pressure low.” Hugh’s seemed to drifting off as he spoke, his words becoming a soft mumble.

Alan smiled, a mix of affection and bemusement coloring his thoughts. He stood by the bed for a while yet, watching Hugh’s handsome face relax as sleep claimed him. Here was a man he thought he would never see again a fortnight ago, having put his wartime experiences behind him. And now....somehow, after years of burying himself in his work and accepting that isolation was his lot in life, he had been swept up in a torrent of emotion and found himself overwhelmed. Alan Turing in love? Instinctually he scoffed at the notion and yet....looking down at Hugh he couldn’t deny it. Shaking his head, Alan retrieved his cigarette case and lighter and walked down the wide, polished hallways of the old Victorian hospital and out into the late afternoon’s fading sunlight.

\--------------------------------------------

Alan regretted the moment he opened his eyes. A bolt of pain shot through his head, lodging itself behind his forehead, throbbing with a frightening intensity that made him squeeze his eyes shut again. As his mind slowly opened, and awareness of his surroundings came filtering in, his stomach lurched, engulfed in a wave of nausea and dizziness. The world outside his closed eyes swam. Noises distorted, peppering his nerves. It was all too much.

His limbs curled in, protecting his vulnerable middle, and he rocked against the cold, solid floor. It was the weight of his body, slack and heavy against the pitted concrete that he chose to focus on. Fingers flexed cautiously, scrabbling, pulling against something....rope digging into his skin harshly...he was tied tightly...panic threatened.

Stop...breathe.... he took another breath and tried to think. It was the slam of a door that had woken him. Water moving through pipes. The metallic kettling of an old boiler nearby. He must be in a basement.

His breathing slowed. Memory came flooding back. He had been outside, the evening sunlight had been warm and he had leaned against the wall of the hospital alleyway in the cooler shade. He had sensed, more than seen, someone behind him. There was a struggle....a cloth over his mouth and nose...a sickly sweet smell of wrongness...the ground spiraling up to meet him as he fell in the embrace of a violent stranger. Blackness.

Straining to hear, he detected a voice....maybe two voices. . His eyes slitted open and he saw a rusted heating vent about a foot away. Slowly he squirmed across the floor. The voices floated down through that grate. They were arguing.

“Nobody saw us, damn ya! Do ya think this is my first time?” A man’s voice, rough and working class. A local certainly.

A chair scraped across a wooden floor above him. Sounds of a struggle. The thud of a body slamming into a wall. A man’s grunt of pain.

“Should I finish this?” A new man’s voice, this one controlled and measured. Educated. Cold like hardened steel. “Leaving him alive could complicate things.”

“No. I think not. I’ve known him since childhood. His mother would not approve. Put him in the room downstairs. Secure him well and I will deal with him once this is all over.”

Alan shivered as a new fear surfaced. He knew that voice. A woman’s voice. He had hoped to never hear it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mild violence and being held against your will.
> 
> Interesting Article on the drug trials in the 1940's and 1950's: https://www.escholar.manchester.ac.uk/api/datastream?publicationPid=uk-ac-man-scw:3c311&datastreamId=FULL-TEXT.PDF
> 
> Info on how Chloroform Effects people (used on poor Alan): http://www.themedschoolproject.com/2011/10/how-effective-is-chloroform-as.html


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the darkest hour, Alan struggled to hold out hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dub-con, though not as you think. There is a scene which I found pretty intense while writing so be aware.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting. Life does want to get in the way all the time. It's a shorter chapter than usual but I did want to get it posted. The next post will be soon, I promise. Hopefully, together, we can get poor Alan out of this basement.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for sticking with me.

Time blurred as the noises from the floors above faded. Alan’s captors had left hours ago, the muted rumble of their car dwindling into nothing. The only light in the windowless basement, a yellow glow that had filtered down through the cracks in the floorboards overhead when daylight still lingered in the old house, had been extinguished. Alan’s world was a void, punctuated with the occasional creak or pop as the house settled into true nighttime. 

With the night, came the cold. Shivering, Alan had managed to push himself under a pile of canvas tarps which, though stiff and noxious with paint fumes, offered some protection against the cold. His head ached dully. His hands were becoming numb from the cords wrapped around them, but he had managed to slip off the pillowcase they had hooded his head with, which made breathing much easier.

His mind raced, trying to piece together non existent clues into a cohesive story. Was Lucy really that desperate? Of course she was...and cunning too, if what he had heard was any measure. 

Scenes from Hugh’s wrecked flat flickered through his memory. She had threatened him, but Alan had never truly considered she would take things this far. Was she willing to kill for Hugh? It seemed she was. And, if so, why had she left Alan alive in the basement?

And who was the other man? Her accomplice? The smooth indifference of his voice revealed his obvious public school education but Alan had thought he heard an accent...one he couldn’t place. 

Exhaustion battled with fear as he excepted that escape was not possible. He could feel the tug of sleep, and the oblivion it offered, tempting him. Each time he felt his eyes grow heavy, sliding closed, he fought...fought to stay awake, uncertain if he would wake up again at all.

\-------------------------

He awoke to rough hands lifting him, a blinding light in his face, and a stinging slap across his cheek, the nerves of his face blazing to life from the paralyzing cold of the concrete floor. Eyes blurry, he could barely make out his captors as they shoved him unceremoniously into a small chair, which swayed dangerously under his weight. His head lolled, feeling huge and swollen, and he tried to lift it, tried to see who was there. 

He concentrated through the pain and the face of Lucy Stone came into focus. She was studying him closely, close enough for Alan to smell the wine on her breath. A wave of nausea roiled through his empty stomach. She looked unhinged.

“Where?” Lucy spit out, anger barely leashed. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Alan croaked out, fairly sure she meant Hugh, but unwilling to show how much he cared for the man.

Lucy straightened, turning slowly toward the tall man who leaned against the post behind her, hidden in the shadows. Without warning she swung back around, leveling another nasty open handed blow that snapped Alan’s head back. He tipped in the rickety chair and fell off the side, landing on the floor. 

Lucy grabbed his shirtfront with both hands, leaning over him on the ground. The anger was certainly unleashed now. She screamed down at Alan. “Where. Is. Hugh. Alexander?!”

Alan felt the anger flaring in him. “If I knew where he was, you would be the last person I would tell.”

“Loyalty. That is so touching.” Her tone was one of brittle mockery. “You love him, do you?” She stared down at her captive, laying on the cold floor. A thread of spittle snaked down her chin, thinning out toward the floor, unnoticed in her rage. She kicked Alan hard in the side, the point of her shoes stabbing him in the side, pain blooming sharply. He doubled over, coughing hard. He cringed, as she drew her leg back for another blow.

“That’s enough.” The man spoke softly from the shadows. “We will need him undamaged.”

She wheeled around, disgust evident. She shook her head at the man in the corner, still hidden from where Alan lay prostrate. “To think, this man Alexander, an invert, is who we must place the whole future of our movement on.”

She stormed up the basement stairs, slamming the door behind her. Alan could hear the angry staccato of her heels pacing above. A loud thud shook the ceiling as something fell, or was thrown overhead.

A soft chuckle sounded from the man in the corner. He emerged, taking slow, measured steps toward Alan. He was quite tall, his hand tailored suit jarringly elegant in the rough environs of the dank, musty cellar. Manicured fingers reached down to Alan, hefting him up with a firm grip, setting him back in the uprighted chair. 

Alan swayed, bending over his throbbing midsection. He thought a rib might have broken. He coughed. The man pulled his chin up, leaning down closer to Alan, his handsome face materializing from the darkness. 

“You shouldn’t antagonize her, you know.” His voice was softly reproachful. “She is ....useful, that is true, but not inclined to restraint.”  
Alan focused on holding his gaze, willing himself not to show the fear he felt. His mind whirled, trying to make sense of his taciturn captor. Though his English was precise, the consonants clipped, it was imbued with an accent...perhaps Eastern European. He was well inside Alan’s personal space, talking close, his dark, flat eyes roaming carefully over Alan. He smelled faintly of mint.

“Don’t worry. We will find him.” He smiled, his gaze sliding down to Alan’s swollen lips. His soft fingertips travelled over Alan’s neck, coming away shiny with blood. He stared at them and then tasted the fluid.

Alan felt a tremor of revulsion. He fought not to show it. “What do you w-want from him?” 

“Mmm. That’s no concern of yours any longer, I think.” He seemed amused by Alan’s desperation. “He will be taken care of. And you? You will become no more than a pleasant memory.”

He stood abruptly, and with one last look at Alan headed for the stairs. Relief and terror battled within Alan. “You can’t just leave me down here!”

The man ignored his plea, but returned a few minutes later with a glass of warm water from the tap, faintly metallic, and Alan drank it down eagerly as the man tipped it to his mouth. He wondered about his captor’s plans for him. He had thought they might leave him here to die, but now he was unsure. 

“We can’t have you expiring down here. It is possible we might need you.” The man was staring down at him, an expectant look on his sharp features. 

Alan felt a wave of dizziness overtake him. Nausea roiled in his stomach and his heart rate accelerated as he realized the water was likely spiked with some drug. As he keeled over, he felt those same hands lower him to the cold floor, covering him with a tarp. 

Alan recognized the squeak of leather brogues moving away from him as the world fell to black.

 

\-------------------------

 

   
A shockingly blue sky tilted wildly overhead, the call of a large bird echoing in his ears. He was standing, swaying. The scenery around him spun, out of focus. Panic swelled inside. He swallowed hard, almost choking.

Something warm and firm touched his leg and he jumped. 

“Alan...” He looked down and there, at his feet, was Hugh. His lips didn’t move as he spoke, but his eyes were large, shining with love. “God, Alan, I thought you were dead. I didn’t know what to do.”

Alan’s throat seemed cramped and speech did not come, no matter how much he willed it. He had to tell Hugh they were coming for him.

Tears of blood, fat and agonizing, slid down Hugh’s cheek, leaving red streaks over his lovely face. Those lovely eyes began to sink, growing dark circles beneath them as Alan watched. “I love you, Alan. Don’t you love me?”

Something was wrong...very wrong. Alan couldn’t make his mouth work, couldn’t seem to push the words out. Hugh was in danger. He knew that suddenly. He had to warn him. 

Hugh pushed his face into Alan’s groin, smearing the bloody tears, lurid and crimson on the cloth of Alan’s trousers, his hands sliding up the inside of Alan’s thighs. A flood of arousal pulsed through Alan, and he watched, helpless, as Hugh’s clever fingers unzipped his trousers, pulling his swollen member out and nuzzling it. 

“Perhaps you do love me.” Hugh’s words wavered as if made of oil. “You cock says yes. And now...Everyone will see. Will see us and know what we are.”

All of a sudden, Alan realized he was outside, in public. He looked around him, eyes darting. They were in the middle of a vast field of cropped green grass. Townspeople walked by, some stopping in shock, staring at them. One elderly woman pointed, hissing something to the man she stood with.

Embarrassment pressed in on him. He was unable to move, to stop what was happening. He felt Hugh’s hot mouth engulf the head of his prick, shooting bolts of animal pleasure into him. Fingers grazed his testicles, stroking them and tugging before sliding behind them to press insistently. He couldn’t stop it. His hips began to thrust of their own accord, ramming into the wet hotness as the crowds watched.

Alan knew he was completely naked before he looked down. He saw the dark silky hair on the top of Hugh’s head bobbing as he sucked Alan’s member, speeding up as if he knew...could feel the impending orgasm. 

A stiff finger slid up to Alan’s arsehole, his cheeks spreading without effort, exposing his most delicate area to the open. He knew they could all see as the finger probed, without hesitation and pushed all the way in.

It hurt..and yet, with the intimate violation came pleasure like he had never known. It tipped him over the edge and he exploded with a loud grunt into the mouth in front of him. It seemed to go on forever. Shame and ecstasy. Exposed as his basest desires spurted out of him. The crowd gasped.

The mouth released him with a wet pop of suction. Alan looked down. It was not Hugh.  
The mocking smile of the man from the basement greeted him. His tongue snaked out, licking with relish. “Oh yes Mr. Turing, we have many uses for you...”

Alan screamed.

And woke into the pitch blackness of his captive cell, thrashing against his bonds. His breath came in gulps, his heart hammered in his chest. He strained to see something, anything in the dark that might prove the he was back in the real world. He kicked out and connected violently with the chair next to him. It crashed over.

Alan collapsed, eyes open against the draw of the nightmare. Hope began to drain from him, like a tub whose plug had been pulled. In that moment he knew he would never see Hugh again.

A noise creaked from the floor above him. Alan froze as he heard the door to the basement slowly open. The steps were hesitant, their maker creeping slowly.

The blinding beam of a torch suddenly shone, it’s light sweeping the room and settling on Alan. He blinked, trying to see the intruder.

The man came down then, stopping by Alan’s side. “Well, well. Alan Turing. Whatever are you doing here?”

He knew that voice. Smooth and confident. It was Stewart Menzies.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is a dangerous place...

The muffled voices of an interrogation filtered through the bedroom door; the casual menace of Menzies’ baritone questions punctuated by the escalating fear of his captives’ tenor.  From his limited vantage point laying on an old, leather chesterfield sofa, Alan could see the shadow of the spy’s shoes pacing back and forth slowly behind the closed door.  From what he could tell, Menzies hadn’t started beating the kidnapper yet, but Alan had no doubt the agent was experienced in ways to get information out of people.  

_But would it be in time to find Hugh?_

For the third time in as many minutes, Alan tried to leverage himself up, arms straining and face set against the pain of his broken ribs.  His head was beginning to clear.  God only knew how long he had been unconscious in that dank prison of a basement, but finally the drug used to sedate him was wearing off.  With awareness came the pain.  It was a deal he would take though, if it meant saving Hugh.

He managed to sit upright, each breath short and careful.  The lounge was not well furnished.  A small table lay on it’s side and the curtains on the windows were worn and hanging loose. The thick trails of dust that had accumulated on every surface spoke of a house long abandoned.

Alan’s eyes fixed on the table in the kitchen, crowded with dirty tea cups and ashtrays.  A bare light bulb on a chain hung forlornly over the table, putting out a spare light.  Several spoke-backed wooden chairs, once painted white but now peeling to gray, surrounded the table.  This was obviously where Lucy Stone and her conspirators had been plotting their next move. Plotting while Alan lay below them, waiting in the freezing darkness to see if he would live or die.  

Squinting, Alan saw a piece of paper forgotten on the dusty floorboards below.  He concentrated, sliding off the sofa, and managed to stagger to the table, lowering himself gingerly to retrieve the paper.  He held it to the light.  It appeared to be a letter.  A letter to Hugh...forged with Alan’s signature.

> _Hugh,_
> 
> _I realize that this is a difficult time for you, however I feel a clean break would be best for both of us._
> 
> _My life is centered around my work._ _It is, and will always be, the most important thing to me._
> 
> _The projects I am developing give me purpose and I have decided that I can’t let anything come before it._
> 
> _I know you will understand this._
> 
>  

Alan’s heart began to pound.  If Hugh had seen this letter, what would he think?  Hugh knew how important the work was to Alan, how consuming it could become when a new project started.  Hugh’s own work was similar.  He scanned the next paragraph anxiously, noticing how different the scribbled handwriting was in this part.  Apparently, two people had worked on this draft.

>       _You have a relationship with Ms. Stone, despite your denial, and she is carrying your child._
> 
> _Surely you know that this is the path you should choose.  What has been happening between us is not ~~right~~ natural._
> 
> _We should have never given in to our physical needs the way we did. ~~Men were never meant to~~_
> 
> _Please don’t follow me.  I will be in London for_

The writing cut off there, a ring of spilt tea puckering the paper.  Alan noticed that there were several attempts at his signature below, each more elaborate than the next.  The page was crumpled, as if in frustration.  Alan was afraid he knew where the final draft was.

Hugh would never believe Alan could have written this.  What had happened between them was real and Hugh knew how Alan felt about him.  They had confessed their feelings for each other.  They had done the most intimate things...together.  

Then Alan remembered asking Hugh about wanting children as they sat in the waiting area that day. Hugh’s face had revealed the anxiety that question held for him, as he considered a future as a father...a future that could not include Alan.  Did he think Alan was pushing him away just by asking?  

Surely, he would never think that Alan could write the cold, emotionless things in that letter.  Alan had been told, many times in his life, that he was aloof and dispassionate; his love of machines and numbers were a mystery to most people.  And truthfully, he didn’t care what others thought.  But Hugh was not most people.  Hugh would not believe for a minute that Alan would send him back into the arms of that woman.  Would he?  

Panic began to set in.  How long had he been gone?  To Hugh, it would seem as if Alan had disappeared.  Alan would never desert him, lying in a hospital bed.  And yet...If Hugh had found a letter like this, what would he be thinking?  How desperate would he be?  Was Lucy Stone there right now, comforting Hugh, placing his hand on her swollen belly to feel their child move? He had to find Hugh, had to warn him who she really was.  Who she was in league with.

The thought of the man in the basement, the pleasure he had taken at Alan’s fear, sent Alan’s panic to a new level.  What did they want Hugh for?   It must be related to Hugh’s work for GCHQ.  Alan knew little, in reality, about which classified projects Hugh had been working on in London. Only what Hugh had divulged.  Though he had some experience in the way GCHQ worked, Alan had not been involved with the world of intelligence and security for years.  Deception about his work would be habit to Hugh by now, he realized suddenly.  Perhaps Alan had only heard what he wanted to hear.

_No.  He had trusted Hugh with his heart, and he would not stop trusting him now._

Sitting down heavily, he rubbed his wrists, bruised and raw from the rope they had bound him with.  He would need Menzies to help him, but who could tell what that man’s real agenda was? Alan couldn’t admit his feelings for Hugh, or anything beyond friendship, to the spy.  He remembered, all too well, how Menzies had used his affection for Joan to pry information out of him. People were just tools to someone like Menzies, to be used until they were too blunted to be effective and then tossed aside.  If Alan had any hope of rescuing Hugh from the danger he was in, he would have to play the game...have to go along with Menzies, giving him just enough to secure his aid.

The door in the other room opened abruptly, creaking loudly, and Alan heard the clip of other man’s heels approach.  He slipped the folded letter into his shirt pocket, knowing that Menzies should never read it, and turned to face his dangerous new partner.

Menzies stopped when he saw Alan sitting at the kitchen table.  “I’m surprised you were be able to move with your injuries.”

“I’m fine.” Alan said.  “W-what did he say?  Does he know where they went?”

“I fear we may have overestimated the usefulness of our friend.  His anger at being betrayed by Ms. Stone and her accomplice make him eager to talk, but he knows next to nothing.”

Alan was trying to work out their next move when he heard a car rolling up outside, gravel crunching ominously under its wheels.  He stood swiftly, immediately regretting it as sharp pain from his injured side made him gasp with it’s intensity.  He steadied himself, one hand gripping the table’s edge, and tried to breath shallowly.  

“W-what are we going to do?” Alan cursed himself for his stuttering, feeling out of his depth.

Menzies had passed to the window, producing a gleaming black barreled revolver from somewhere inside the tailored folds his suit coat.   Peering out, he stepped back again, holstering the weapon.  “My associates have arrived.  They will take charge of our worthless friend, and we....we will follow the only trail we have.  You.”

Before he could ask what that meant, two men in dark suits entered, almost identical in their government anonymity.  After a murmured conversation with Menzies, they headed for the bedroom, never even acknowledging Alan’s presence.  

A brief struggle followed as the men secured their captive, the man who had kidnapped Alan unwilling to go easily to his unknown fate, and then they dragged him out toward the front door. Alan had not seen him in the alley he was taken from; all he remembered was a callused hand over his face and the wiry strength of him as Alan had struggled.  He was tall, and older than Alan expected, with the rough quality of a man used to manual work, tousled grey hair framing a weathered face.  He shot a desperate look at Alan as if the very man he had abducted not long ago might be the source of his salvation.  Alan could only stare as the men shoved him roughly outside to a waiting car.  Somehow, Alan didn’t imagine they were turning him over to the police.

“From what you heard during your stay here, it appears our time to find Mr. Alexander is quite limited.”  Menzies’ gaze swept over Alan, noting his tense posture and short breathing.  “I see no choice but to bring you with me, but you do look as if some medical care and strong pain medication might be in order.  Let me help you to the car and we’ll see if we can get you fixed up.”

Menzies slid a strong arm around Alan’s waist and carefully delivered him to the front seat of a dark sedan in the drive.  As they pulled away and onto the dark tarmac of the night time countryside, Alan tried to focus on careful breaths and braced himself against the dash at every curve.  

A thousand questions bloomed in Alan’s mind, but he discarded each one unspoken.  He studied the silent man driving to his right, watching the streetlight flash across his rugged features.  After a short while they approached the outskirts of town, racing past petrol stations and roadside restaurants, careening around slower traffic.  When Menzies finally spoke, Alan jumped in surprise.

“His name is Lucian Ivor Pole.”  

Alan held on tight as they made a sharp left turn onto the main road in Manchester proper, a tire dipping off the edge of the tarmac and bouncing back up with jarring force.  “Who?”

“The man with Ms. Stone.  A very dangerous man indeed.”

The bottleneck of questions broke free from Alan.  “What do they w-want with Hugh?  Ms. Stone said something about using him for their ‘movement’.  W-what does that mean exactly?  What movement?”

Menzies expression grew more grim.  It seemed he might not answer, and Alan was tired of being kept in the dark.  “I believe I am entitled to some answers!”

“Allowing oneself to be captured by Lucy Stone’s henchman entitles you to precisely nothing.”  Menzies declared.  He glanced at Alan, and then sighed.  “However, it is vital that we ensure that Mr. Alexander does not fall into the wrong hands.”

Menzies pulled a cheap, and slightly mangled, Woodbine from his breast pocket one-handed, managing to light it while deftly careening through city backstreets as if traffic did not exist.  Luckily, few cars were on the roadway this time of night, and they swung through the roundabout near St. Peter’s Square and shot onto the broad lanes of Oxford Road without incident.  They were heading to the University, Alan realized, to the Royal Infirmary where Alan had been taken from Hugh two nights since.  
“You are, of course, aware of the the spread of the Soviets in Czechoslovakia last year.”  He emphasized each point with a wave of of his cigarette, glowing bits of embers swirling around him and out the open window.  When Alan didn’t respond, he shook his head in disgust. “I had forgotten how unaware of the world outside your academic circle you are.”

“The Soviets have been courting communist sympathizers in this country since before the war, as you are aware from your dealings with Mr. Cairncross.  We have information that they have infiltrated various government offices, and the intelligence services have been authorized to root these agents and traitors out of Her Majesty’s government.”

“But what would the Soviets have to do with Hugh?”  Alan asked, exasperated.

Menzies held up a finger as he slowed to enter the main gate to the University campus.  He swung the steering wheel right, then cut a sharp left, tires squealing as the back end fishtailed.

“A fortnight ago, during what I have been assured was a rather creative debriefing of a Soviet defector named Constantin Vohlkov by our friends in the Turkish MEH, some rather unsettling information was unearthed.” Menzies flicked the unsmoked end of his Woodbine out the window and downshifted suddenly.  The sedan lurched violently, but Menzies continued smoothly, unaffected.  “The Soviets have discovered we are working on ‘Eyes Only’ Top Secret plans for a new encrypted COMINT Communications system for reading Soviet cyphers.”

“Being developed at GCHQ.... by Hugh Alexander.”  Alan deduced.

Menzies pulled into a narrow alleyway behind the Infirmary, parking behind a row of grey metal skips.  He favored Alan with an almost sinister smile.  “Among others, yes. Though his illness has limited his work.  Lucian Pole is a man we suspect to have extensive ties within the British Communist Party.  It seems the Soviets have recruited him to bring Hugh Alexander into the fold...by any means necessary.”

Apparently, ‘any means’ meant using Lucy Stone to blackmail Hugh into joining them, Alan thought angrily.  Choose between your unborn child or your country.  Alan felt sick. 

Then another thought occurred to him. Was this Lucian Pole truly aware of the nature of his relationship to Hugh?  If so, would he use the threat of exposure to force Hugh’s hand?

“We need to find your friend before Mr. Pole does, or I have no doubt he will show Mr. Alexander just how hospitable the Russians can be.”  Menzies’ spoke, breaking into Alan’s thoughts.

“Y-yes.  I think we should find Doctor McCarthy.  He is running the study that Hugh is participating in.”  Alan unlatched the heavy door to the sedan and slowly pulled himself out.  Menzies was staring at him across the car’s roof, his hooded eyes barely visible in the shadows.  

“I think, perhaps, we should have you seen to.  Your breathing appears a bit strained.”  Menzies seemed genuinely worried, though Alan guessed his concern was likely for his own plans. “Stay in the car.  I will bring this Dr. McCarthy to you.  We don’t want them to know we are on to them.”

“Fine.”  Alan had to concede that he had a point, the bruising on his side made moving a misery.  “He will be on the fourth floor.  I believe you can count on his discretion.”

Menzies gave him a strange look at that, but nodded and made his way up the ramp to the hospital loading dock door, slipping quietly inside the building.  The sudden silence in the back alley was unnerving.  The sounds of cars and people in the car park out by the road seemed far away.  

\------------------------------

Alan sat, cataloging his injuries and replaying the events of his captivity.  It was certainly possibly, actually quite likely, that McCarthy might not be here this late in the evening.  What would they do then?

He made the mistake of rereading the letter draft, and felt a sense of hopelessness set in.  If Hugh had seen that letter, who knew what he might think? Closing his eyes he could still feel the strength of the other man’s arms around him, though that morning in his home seemed so long ago.  Alan had found the courage, somehow, to tell him he loved him.  It was the first time in his life he knew he could say those words.  Hugh’s response filtered back to him.   _“And I you...”_

That had to count for something.  Alan had never been good at understanding other people, but in Hugh’s eyes that day he knew he had seen affection.  Even adoration.  

No, perhaps that was overstating things.  Machines were so much easier to understand.  You knew that for every measurable input there was a predictable output.  But love between two humans....there were just too many variables.

By the time Alan heard the metal door on the dock opening again it seemed like hours had passed.  He saw Menzies come striding down the ramp, followed by the familiar form of Doctor McCarthy and the tall bulk of Neil the orderly, pushing a wheelchair.  In short order they had him out of the car, and wheeled into a rather isolated exam room on the lower level of the huge old infirmary.

The Doctor insisted on examining his patient in privacy, and Menzies did not argue, taking Neil into the outer room, the questioning starting before the door even closed.  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Alexander?” Alan heard Menzies demand.

McCarthy was quiet as he helped Alan remove his shirt.  Though he did not remark on the obvious violence behind Alan’s bruised chest and face, his normally youthful face grew grim as he noted each new injury.  

He produced a stethoscope, warming the round metal diaphragm in his palm.  “Hold very still, and breathe as normally as you can.”

Alan took several shallow breaths, wincing.  McCarthy finished, and, mumbling something under his breath, moved to the cupboard behind him to retrieve some bandages.  Turning back he adjusted his glasses, studying Alan’s face with concern.

“I won’t ask who inflicted these injuries.  Your colleague has already impressed upon me the delicacy of the situation.” He paused, instructing Alan to lift his arms slightly so he could wrap his chest in the bandaging.  “I believe you have broken a rib, and the bruising is quite impressive, but with rest and medication, you should heal well enough.”

Alan couldn’t stay silent any longer.  “H-have you seen Hugh, Doctor?”

“Hmmm.  Well that’s another mystery, isn’t it?”  McCarthy taped the bandages in place and met Alan’s eyes steadily.  “Mr. Alexander left, without informing me or my staff, two days ago halfway through his treatment.  I know he was concerned, when you didn’t return that evening, but I thought he understood how important finishing his course of medication was.”

McCarthy reached out, placing his hand on Alan’s shoulder.  “He is in grave danger if he does not return soon.  I hope you know, if there is anything I can do to help, you have only to ask.”

His sincerity affected Alan deeply.  “I do know, thank you. You’ve been very kind.”

“That man outside..do you trust him?”  he asked Alan.

“He is helping find Hugh,” Alan said, “as for trust...I am not sure.”

“Neil told me Hugh received a letter, from whom he did not say.”  McCarthy searched Alan’s face for some acknowledgment.  “Apparently he left soon after he read it.  Do you know what the contents were?”

Alan felt his heart sink.  “I am not....s-sure.”

“Well.  If he turns up here, I shall try to contact you.  I asked Neil not to share that information with anyone, as I was not sure if it was something private between the two of you.”

“Thank you for that.” Alan said, sliding cautiously off the exam table. “If he is not here, I am not sure where to look.”

McCarthy helped Alan dress, buttoning his shirt. He handed him a business card with the seal of the Royal Infirmary embossed on it. A telephone number was handwritten on the back. “This is my private phone. If you need help, or a safe place to go, don’t hesitate to ring me up.”

Alan tucked the card in his pocket, unsure how to respond. McCarthy didn’t seem to require a response though. He handed Alan a packet of pain pills, instructions written on the side.

A sharp rap on the door was all the announcement Menzies gave them as the door opened and he leaned in.

“We have to go now. One of my men just arrived.” He paused, looking stricken. “They were ambushed....our captive, and one of my men, were killed in a shootout.”

Menzies led Alan out to the loading dock, where several of his agents were milling around two cars, checking weapons and smoking cigarettes. The mood was one of grim anticipation.

Another government sedan pulled into the alley, slamming to a stop mere feet from the others. A young agent got out, hurrying over and relaying a tense message to Menzies privately.

“We have a lead on their location.” Menzies said turning to Alan. He called a tall, lanky man over to them. “This has become far too dangerous for an academic. Collins here will take you back to your home and stay outside to watch over you. Get some rest and I will keep you informed as the situation develops.”

“Wait,” Alan demanded as Menzies headed toward the nearest vehicle, “Was there any sign of Hugh Alexander?”

“Not that I am aware of. We will find him, rest assured Professor.”

Three identical sedans, loaded with men, backed out into the car park, tires spinning and accelerated in a cloud of dusty gravel toward the main road. The agent, Collins, gestured toward the remaining car, and Alan got in, overcome with a feeling of dread.

 

\----------------------------

The front steps of his home looked cold, and unwelcoming, the entrance bathed in wavering shadows from the swaying trees that flanked the walk. Just two days ago, Alan had held his lover in his arms, almost in disbelief that someone like Hugh, who likely could have chosen anyone, was his. Now the dark entrance hall, steeped in shadows, left him feeling hollow and enervated.

He invited the agent in for a cup of tea, but the man politely declined, obviously thinking it beyond his professional scope. Alan watched as he settled in the sedan out front and lit a cigarette. He didn’t seem concerned, despite the violent events of the last day.

Exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep just yet, Alan made his way into the kitchen, putting on the kettle. He would drink some tea, take his pain medication, and perhaps that would make sleep possible.

Searching through the refrigerator he found a bottle of milk in the back, wondering if it was still drinkable. He froze as he heard a shuffling sound behind him.

“Alan?”

He spun around. Standing in the unlit hall, staring in shock, was Hugh. The milk slipped from his hands, shattering on the tiles.


End file.
